


Heaven from Hell

by Glassfire



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Draco Malfoy & Remus Lupin Friendship, Draco Malfoy & Ron Weasley Friendship, Draco Malfoy-centric, First Time, Good Draco Malfoy, M/M, Magical Pregnancy, Miscarriage, Moving On, One Night Stands, Paternal Lucius Malfoy, Post-War, Selfish Harry Potter, Wartime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-21 02:22:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 42,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3673935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glassfire/pseuds/Glassfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an eventful one-night-stand during the war, Harry and Draco fall into a comfortable, bickering sort of friendship, but it isn't long before forces conspire to pull them apart.</p><p>In which Draco is a bit naive, Harry is a bit of an arse, Ron is an excellent friend (mostly to Draco), Remus is all fatherly and advice-giving (also mostly to Draco), and Lucius has a multi-faceted personality thing going on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to Aima D. Duragon who is a wonderfully talented beta.
> 
> Warnings for m-preg, mscarriage and mention of suicide.

It wasn't supposed to happen. The universe had clearly dropped the ball at some point or another: sneezed while totting up its sums, or nipped out back for a cigarette when it thought no one would notice. And to be fair, almost no one did.

Wizards often laughed - and not always fondly - at those daft muggles who'd happily witness a parade of hippogriffs running down a busy metropolitan street and chalk it up to one-too-many glasses of sherry, but the truth was, wizards were just as bad. Most wizards would quietly bear witness to just about anything foretold in a prophecy - from a horrific disaster to the ruin of a young man in his prime - and chalk it up to fate.

These days, Draco would often look at Harry and think _: 'Merlin's sparkly fishnets, that man needs to lighten up...'_ Because if Draco could find a way to see past the doom and gloom of the war then surely anyone could. He was beginning to realise that Harry and his merry band of minions weren't nearly as, well, _merry_ as they'd made out. With the possible exception of Ron, who it seemed could maintain a bright outlook in nearly any situation provided his belly was full.

The first, and arguably most important, thing Draco had unearthed upon escaping the shackles of his father was a decent sense of humour. If nothing else, it kept him sane throughout the oppressive scrutiny of his first few months on the right side of the war effort. Everyone here had a rather morbid fascination with duty, and Harry was the worst for it. It wasn't that Draco didn't see their reasoning or underestimated the danger of their situation - he knew perfectly well how important it was to put Voldemort in the ground once and for all - but every time someone uttered that quintessentially British phrase: _'There is a war on you know,'_ he felt like he was on the verge of cracking up.

He was alive! He was free! He wanted to run through the castle caterwauling it at the top of his lungs. His whole future was out there for the taking, and even if that future was short, it was still his to live. With a bit of luck and, of course, a bit of work, who knew? Once the war was behind them he could make a little money and settle down, find a wife, have a few kids… wrangle himself one of those big furry mountain dogs that might as well be a bear but with longer ears... It seemed to Draco that these people, who trudged through their days of strategy meetings and walked defiantly into battle, had forgotten to appreciate the very thing they were so afraid to lose.

And so the day that Draco finally managed to get a sodding smile out of Harry, he really didn't expect much else.

He definitely didn't expect for Harry to kiss him like he was drowning from the inside out. Nor did he expect to find Harry - this cold, shuttered, excuse for a man - ablaze all around him, tangled in his sheets, whispering nervous secrets in his ear. Frankly it was absurd, but there he was, being pulled into the firestorm like oxygen, lying flat on his back and naked as the day he was born.

* * *

It all started in a room filled with every assortment of junk imaginable: Socks, swords, skeletons, and much more besides. Harry surveyed the articles around him without any real interest, scuffing his shoes idly as he paced.

"I thought you said this was important, Malfoy."

"It is," Draco called back from behind a pile of broken furniture.

"Well can you get to it at some point in the next millennium? I have a mountain of research to get through."

Draco swung back into view. "It's always work, work, work, with you isn't it, Potter? Even the boy-wonder needs a break every once and a while you know..." he said, snatching up a purple feather boa and throwing it around Harry's neck.

"Yeah? Tell you what, you do my job for a day and let me know how it goes," Harry retorted, pulling off the boa and throwing it at a pile of books.

"Oh cheer up will you, the wet blanket routine's getting old." Draco picked up a mannequin and began to dance it around the room.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?"

"Trying to get you to crack a smile of course. Merlin you're hard work, Potter!"

"What's up with you today, Malfoy, you're practically...giddy? It's weird. Stop it."

"Hey! How do you know I've not always been like this, and you've just been too thick-skulled to notice?"

"Well... Have you?"

"Nah, I really was that much of an arse. I guess being around a miserable git like you day in-day out does good things for my disposition. One of us needs to have a sense of humour..."

"I don't have time for a sense of humour, Malfoy.

"Well that's a bit depressing. Look on the bright side for once will you, it's your birthday after all... and, as of today, we're one step closer to winning the war."

"Oh? How'd you figure?"

Draco dropped the mannequin and turned to face Harry.

"Ah! Well..." he paused for dramatic effect, "I might just have a present for you."

With that, he disappeared off behind a pile of battered looking armchairs.

"Is it Voldemort's head on a pike?"

"Nuh-uh, much better than that."

Harry spun around as Draco sprung out again from behind him, dressed in a large fur coat, an acid green wig, oversized sunglasses and a pirate's hat.

"You look ridiculous!"

"Coming from you, scarface?"

Draco struck a comical pose, and Harry began to laugh. The laughter grew and grew and became interspersed with wheezing breaths as he bent double, clasping his stomach. Draco's face was painted with victory by the time he threw off the mismatched items.

"Oh, thank you," Harry gasped.

"What for?"

"Wasn't that my present?"

Draco surveyed him with a look of confusion for a moment. "Ah, the gift of laughter...if only I'd known you were that easy to please, Potter..."

"So, what is it then?"

"Close your eyes," Draco ordered, disappearing into the folds of the room once more.

"Are you going to hex me?"

"Potter, honestly! Do as you're told!"

"Fine!" Harry huffed like he was half his age.

Draco appeared again, and held a battered looking tiara out to his Harry. "You can look now."

"Um," Harry looked at it awkwardly, "It's really not my style Malfoy..."

"Oh no? Look closer."

Something dawned on Harry's face "Is this- It can't be- Is it?"

"Yup."

"I can't believe this, you- I mean, how?" Harry eventually spluttered, taking Ravenclaw's diadem with shaky fingers.

Draco stepped back and gave a sweeping bow, "I live to serve." Straightening up, satisfied, he added, "Night then."

He made to leave, but Harry grabbed his arm and stared at him with an unreadable expression. It made Draco decidedly uncomfortable, he swallowed and prepared to break the dizzy silence but Harry sensed it coming and pulled him into a reckless kiss before either of them could put a stop to it.

Draco took a step back, partly to break their connection but mostly just to get his bearings. "What was that for?"

Harry's eyes cut into him, still riding on the euphoria of it all, "You're amazing, you know that?"

Draco studied him, "Did someone slip you something at lunch? From a little shimmery bottle? Probably smelt like sweaty quidditch gear and chocolate frogs?"

Harry finally faltered, "You're going to be a dick about this aren't you?"

"I'm not, I just... I'm not connecting the dots here. Does everyone who finds a horcrux get a snog? Is it some kind of reward system? Or... are you just so rarely in a good mood that it gets you randy enough to jump on the nearest thing with a pulse?" Draco leaned forward. "Are you gay? Am I hot to gay guys?"

Harry clenched his fists. "You kissed me back," he pointed out through his teeth.

Draco pursed his lips and rubbed his face, "Yeah, I'm aware of that, I was there too."

Harry inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. "So?" he demanded.

Draco studied him a while longer. "Come here," he said eventually, in the softest voice Harry had ever heard him use.

Harry closed the gap between them. Draco reached out and put his hands either side of Harry's neck, testing out how it felt. He brought their lips together slowly, his eyes wide open as Harry's fell shut. The blood flooding to his cock told him enough - for the time being at least, and he wasn't in the habit of thinking much further ahead.

"Happy Birthday, Harry," he breathed when it was over.

* * *

That night Draco recounted the whole thing to himself precisely sixty-seven times, fascinated by Harry's actions – not that that was anything new, he couldn't remember a time when Harry hadn't fascinated him, even if he was a frequently morbid bastard - but moreso by his own _reaction_. He was so wrapped up in it all that he nearly missed the knock at his door.

Harry chewed on his lip and scattered his eyes in every direction, "Can I come in?"

Draco started to reply _'Sure,'_ but Harry's hands were on him the second he opened his mouth. Draco felt like his brain was folding in on itself but he couldn't bring himself to give a flying fuck. Harry's tongue was about the only thing he could process and he was quite comfortable with that.

By the time he was able to piece together the rest of what had been going on, his clothes were somewhere else and his big regal bed was in chaos around them. He whistled and briefly let his head fall back against the pillows.

Harry's fingers threaded into the hair at the nape of his neck, and Draco knew that at any moment those fingers might start to wander, and could wander wherever they wanted - a notion he found both terrifying and euphoric.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

Draco brought a hand to Harry's face and brushed his thumb over his cheek. "You used to smile like that all the time. I never realised I could bring it back," he said, compelled into pressing his lips to the pulse point in Harry's neck.

Harry drew in a shaky breath; Draco moaned something incomprehensible against his skin and pulled back. He shuffled himself down so that he was sitting on Harry's thighs and pulled him up into a sitting position, his eyes wide and bright.

"We're alive, Harry!" he said, shaking him slightly, "We could jump off the astronomy tower and sprout wings! We could take on an army of rabid goblins! We could do anything!" He placed a hand over Harry's heart and stared at it for a moment. "Don't you feel that?"

"Yeah," Harry ducked his head.

"Come on now, Harry," Draco took his chin in the crook of his finger. "Once more with feeling?"

Harry's cheeks flushed pink; he laughed and tried to avert his eyes, "Yes, we're alive!"

Draco grinned and kissed him.

"You're a certifiable nut job by the way, just so you know."

"Tell you what, I'll have the men with the little white coats come and get me in the morning."

Harry laughed again and it built and bubbled out from the depths of his stomach until he was clutching Draco and struggling to breathe.

"Alright there?"

"This is so bizarre."

"It is rather," Draco agreed. "Here I am stark bollock naked and you're still fully clothed? I sense foul play afoot."

"You planning on doing something about it?"

Draco smirked and made to grab the front of Harry's t-shirt but Harry caught his wrist before he could.

"This _is_ just between us, right?"

"It's no one else's business, Harry."

Harry's shoulders dropped. His fingers played on Draco's chest as he looked up into his eyes.

"Out of interest, what would you have done if I'd said: _'No, Harry, I've got Creevey hidden in the wash basket - the photos will be on the front page of the Prophet in the morning'_."

"Obliviated you," Harry replied as though it were obvious, "And him. Though I doubt Creevey would have the balls to be anywhere near your wash basket."

Draco tried to decide how insulted he was. Eventually he just shrugged, "Fair enough." He kissed Harry's temple and touched their fingers together. "Don't though, I think I want to remember you like this."

Harry chewed his lip; he dropped his gaze into his lap only to be startled by the obscene sight of Draco's cock sitting there, eager and unabashed. He jerked his eyes away and almost instantly scolded himself for it: he'd wanted this, he'd made it happen, there was no use being prudish about it now.

The trouble was, he had no idea what to _do_ with it. He wanted to curl his fingers around it and find out if it felt different to his own. It looked different anyway. But once he touched it he was starting something new, and what if he couldn't finish it? What if what he liked wasn't what Draco liked? What if-

"Come on then: off," Draco ordered him, pulling Harry's t-shirt up and over his head. "Down," he added pressing against Harry's chest.

"What am I, a bloody cocker spaniel?"

"Well you do bear a striking resemblance."

Harry hit him with a pillow. "Arse."

"You do realise I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing, Harry," Draco grimaced and brushed his hair away from his face with a sweaty palm.

Harry cocked an eyebrow at him but quickly lost his nerve and picked at his fingernails instead. "I don't mind if you don't."

"Look, I really, _really_ hope I'm not about to regret asking this... because, well this is _hot_... and you know I'm all about the new experiences these days-"

"I didn't know that."

"That's because your nose is always in either a book or a battle drill," Draco tilted his head and pointed a finger at him. "But for the record, I am."

Draco paused to consider Harry for a moment. "For the first time in my life I can do whatever I want, and honestly, I don't even know what that is, but I know I have the freedom to figure it out, which is a damn sight more than I had in a house full of deatheaters and werewolves and my demented-" Draco's eyes flared and he stopped himself short. "Getting off track, my point is, I know why _I'm_ along for this ride, but what's going on with you?"

"Does something have to be going on with me?"

"No." He paused thoughtfully. "Mostly I'm just checking you're not having some sort of breakdown."

"How gentlemanly of you."

"Hey," Draco poked Harry's chest. "Don't get snarky with me Oh-Mighty-Exhaulted-Saviour-of-the-World-and-Magic-and-Decency-and-Tiny-Little-Baby-Penguins-Somewhere-in-Antarctica."

"What?" Harry guffawed.

"Shut up."

"It's my birthday today," Harry said offhandedly, picking at his fingernails again.

"Yes, we've covered that," Draco said slowly before adding with pride: "I even got you a present."

"That you did."

Draco leaned in close to whisper in Harry's ear; the tip of his cock rested against Harry's stomach and it reacted with a flutter. "Seeing as we're all alone - you know, apart from Creevey - you can feel free to admit it."

"Admit what?"

Draco sat himself back up. "That my present was the best."

"It was the only."

Draco scrunched his eyes and shook his head slightly. "Excuse me?"

Harry shrugged. "It's not a big deal, there's a lot going on. I mean, it's the full moon so Remus is out of the picture, and Ron asked if I wanted to do something - go out for drinks with him and Hermione maybe, but I didn't see the point…."

Draco slumped and folded his arms, his mouth became a troubled pout, "And they just… accepted that?"

"I don't have time for birthdays," Harry explained as if to a small child; Draco just about smacked him. "Birthdays are for other people, and I'm just not…"

"What? A person?" Draco made no attempt to hide his incredulity.

"I think this was a bad idea," Harry said. He tried to sit up but Draco, though still lost in his thoughts and staring off into space, pushed him back down.

"Let me up!"

Draco snapped his head around again. "I will, in a minute, but let's just get one thing straight first: You are _not_ a piece of bloody machinery with some kind of predefined shelf life Harry. Fuck!"

"I-"

"You're a human being: no more or less important than the rest of us mere mortals. You deserve birthdays and lazy Sunday mornings and awkward sexual encounters and to have your ass whooped at Quidditch every once and a while – by me if at all possible, but that's a whole separate issue - and, and..." he made a wild gesture, "The terror that is steamed cabbage! Along with countless other things that I can't think of right now."

"Are you quite done?"

Draco folded his arms over his chest. "I'm not sure."

"Oh screw it," Harry huffed as he wound a hand behind Draco's neck and dragged his lips down to meet his own.

"Stop!" Draco pushed him away. "A minute ago you said this was a bad idea."

Harry latched onto Draco's jaw line rather than respond. He rolled him onto his back again and moved his mouth to just behind his ear.

Draco started to panic for the first time that evening. "Wait, wait!" he beat his fits on Harry's shoulders. "What if you're right?"

"Why are we still talking about this?" Harry murmured against his skin.

Draco's throat constricted as Harry's lips trailed down over one of his nipples. "I spent a good chunk of my childhood looking for ways to hurt you, Harry. You can't just pretend none of those things happened."

"I've decided I'm over it."

"Is that why we've gone from civil conversation to full frontal nudity in the space of six hours?"

"Don't be a moron, Draco," Harry replied from somewhere near his belly button; Draco couldn't bear to look—he only knew because he could feel Harry's breath warming his skin.

"Hey!" Draco gently kicked his side with his bare foot. "I'm trying to look out for you, you dick."

Harry looked up at last. "You're sweet."

"I've been called a lot of things, Potter..."

Harry prowled back up his torso until they were eye for eye. He kissed Draco so softly it might have been a dream, "I've been over it since you showed up at the castle gates all those months ago and begged Dumbledore to let you in."

Draco's lungs hurt, stuck somewhere between relief and fear.

"What else?" Harry asked him, probing his eyes.

"I meant it when I said I hadn't done this before."

"You scared?" Harry whispered.

Draco knitted his brows together; he opened his mouth to speak but couldn't decide on an answer.

"I am a little," Harry admitted. "But I want this. Do you?"

Draco closed his eyes and exhaled. "Yes."

Harry pressed their foreheads together and gently brushed their noses. He pulled at Draco's bottom lip with his teeth; their breath and tongues mingled together.

Draco's fingers sought out the waistband of Harry's trousers; they shook slightly as he worked at the buttons. Draco broke their kiss to yelp when Harry kicked the last of his clothing off his ankles and inadvertently struck him.

"Sorry," Harry said, "But hey, at least we're even on the clothes front now."

Draco looked down between them; he both saw and felt his cock twitch. Harry took his own in his hand and experimentally touched it to Draco's - once, then twice.

Draco's stomach muscles clamped together painfully and he let go of a nervous laugh, "What are you doing?"

"Playing?" Harry did his best to look coy in spite of the heart thudding up against his ribcage.

Draco's hand reached between them. He wrapped his fingers around both of them and stroked softly. His wrist was bent at an awkward angle, but before he could adjust it Harry batted it out of the way.

"Close your eyes," he whispered.

Draco felt the bed shift and then all of a sudden a wet tongue was running along the underside of his cock, a spasm of shock ran through Draco's whole body. "Fuck!"

"No good?"

"Don't be a tease."

"Who, me?"

Harry continued to explore with his mouth. It was wet and imprecise, but Draco watched in awe that someone else was doing this for him: the concept alone was enough to push his limits, the fact that Harry was that someone else had him fisting the sheets and fighting to conjure up foul images of Professor Slughorn doing inappropriate things with a potions vial.

Harry's jaw had started to ache quite badly after the first few minutes but he was determined to see it through. He took as much of Draco's cock in his mouth as could manage and began to move up and down the length of it; spit slipped from the corner of his mouth and trailed down over Draco's balls.

"Harry," Draco's plea sounded like one of pain.

Harry looked up, concerned. "Mmmm?" he questioned with his mouth still full.

Draco's mouth opened to speak as his hips bucked of their own accord. A stream of something hot and salty hit the back of Harry's throat so unexpectedly that he wasn't sure what to do with it. He swallowed on reflex but not before some had escaped. He lifted his mouth away carefully and wiped his chin with his wrist.

Draco's eyes were still screwed shut. Harry studied the way his fists clenched and unclenched; he was panting and sweating, and then he began to shiver. Harry pulled the blankets around both of them and nestled himself in the crook of Draco's shoulder, still watching, fascinated, unable to believe he'd caused it all.

"I'm sorry, I wanted," Draco swallowed, "To warn you, but..."

"Can I kiss you?"

Draco blinked his eyes open at last and gave him a confused look.

"I mean because," Harry struggled to find a polite way to rephrase: _'because my mouth is coated in your come'_ but found he couldn't. Thankfully it seemed to dawn on Draco. "Is that gross?" Harry asked in the end.

Draco languidly stroked his fingers through the back of Harry's hair and pulled him closer; he kissed him with an open mouth and a wandering tongue. "I think it's kinda hot actually."

Harry smiled to himself and chewed his thumbnail as he sidled in closer, resting his head and settling his hand on Draco's ribs.

Draco felt Harry's still hard cock on his thigh. "Just give me a minute to..."

"Recover?"

"I was going to say breathe."

Harry listened to Draco's heartbeat wind down. "So... not completely crap then?"

He was met with silence.

"Draco?" Harry lifted his head "Draco are you asleep!?"

Draco opened one eye. "No, but your face was priceless."

Harry thumped him on the shoulder.

"Alright, alright," Draco laughed. He sat up and pulled his legs underneath him so that he was kneeling. "Come here," he patted the space in front of him.

Harry mourned the blankets that slid off him as he manoeuvred himself.

Draco spun a circle with his forefinger. "Other way around."

"What are you..."

The start Harry gave made Draco curious and slightly relieved, "Not that."

"No?"

"Sorta tapped out at the moment Harry," Draco reassured him, "And I..."

"What?"

Draco tentatively put his hands around the back of Harry's neck. "I don't want to rush... whatever this is."

Harry drew Draco's arms away and turned himself around. He kneeled upright, mimicking Draco's own stance. Draco hung back, memorising the curves and shadows of his back, watching his toes curl and uncurl.

"Cold?" Draco asked as Harry began to shiver and wrapped his arms around himself.

"Just a little."

Draco lifted his wand from the bedside table and whispered a spell. Flecks of warm light appeared all around them.

"You'll have to show me how you did that sometime."

Draco brought himself forward so that his back was pressed to Harry's. He wound his arms across Harry's chest and rested his mouth on the join between his neck and shoulder.

Harry shivered again.

"Still cold? Or something else?"

"Something else."

Draco coasted his hand down over Harry's midriff and coiled his fingers around his cock; Harry's eyes rolled backwards with his head. Draco touched Harry as if he were touching himself. He imagined the sensations as if they were his own, and moaned with him, moved with him. He felt his own spent cock tingle futilely against the sweat slicked skin of Harry's back and grasped at Harry's chest with his free hand. He would be so close now, so close.

"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are like this, Harry?"

Harry tensed suddenly; he bit down hard on his lip as he came in streams all over the silk bedspread that decorated the end of Draco's bed. Draco held him as he shook and lay them both down on their sides. He pulled the blankets over them and shook the bedspread onto the floor with his foot. They fell asleep as Draco whispered nonsensical things into Harry's ear, the lights still flickering above them.

* * *

Harry awoke several hours later and shifted carefully onto his back so as not to disturb the arms around him.

"Draco?" he whispered.

"Mmmm?"

"Thank you." It sounded flat to Harry, those two simple words didn't seem enough.

"Any time," Draco sighed through a yawn.

The sentiment made Harry uneasy, and he wasn't ready to think about why yet; it was still dark, the night was still his own.

"I keep having this dream," he said. "It started a few months ago."

"Yeah?"

"The war's over, or, I dunno, maybe there was never a war to begin with."

Draco's eyes fluttered open. "Sounds like a good dream."

"You're there."

"I am?"

"Yeah," Harry felt a sad tug at his heart.

"What else?" Draco asked.

Harry shook his head.

"Please tell me."

Harry just shook his head again.

"Do I do something to hurt you?" he asked quietly.

"Why are you so scared of that?"

"Because," Draco creased his brow, "I wouldn't want to."

"We're lying like this," Harry said eventually. "And you're looking at me the way you're looking at me now."

"How am I looking at you now?"

"Like...I don't know...the way other people look at people who aren't me. No hatred, no grand expectations, just...it's hard to explain."

"Harry," Draco brushed his eyebrow with his thumb, "I'm looking at you like someone who thinks there's more to you than that fucking scar, is that what you mean?"

Harry looked away. "I guess."

"So, this isn't some spur of the moment _'It's my birthday and I'll misbehave if I damn well want to'_ lapse in sanity after all then?"

"Oh it is," Harry smiled almost apologetically, "But..." he gnawed his lip, "There's a reason I'm having it with you."

Draco wasn't prepared for the force of disappointment he felt on hearing this revelation but he did his best not to show it. "Well don't I feel special," he tried to joke.

"Make love to me."

It was spoken so softly that Draco nearly missed it.

"What?"

"Make love to me," Harry repeated through his fingers.

Draco's jaw worked around several disjointed responses. "That's a pretty big line to cross, Harry," he said in the end.

"We've crossed a fair few already."

"I'm not going anywhere, so why are you in such a hurry?"

Harry rubbed his face with both hands. "Look, this can't happen again."

"Do you turn into a warty toad at first light or something?"

"Not far off."

Draco scoffed bitterly.

"Look, I can't afford to be a normal person. I know you think that's a crock of shit but it's true and I don't need another lecture about it."

Draco's scowl scorched holes in the ceiling.

"People will _die_ , Draco."

"People will die if you let yourself be happy? Seriously? Are you hearing yourself?"

Harry ground his back teeth together. Draco looked over at him and deflated at the misery he saw, such a contrast from the carefree glow he'd given off before.

He rolled himself gingerly on top of Harry, found his hands, and kissed him slowly. "You can't fit a whole life's worth of... life into one night. It doesn't work like that."

"Why shouldn't I try?"

Draco sighed, defeated. "You'll never get it back."

"I don't want it back," Harry said. "I want you," he added in a murmur.

Draco hung his head and let the musk of Harry's skin overtake his better judgement.

"Can we stay this way? Does that- is it more uncomfortable for you this way?"

"I..." Harry pulled his shoulders up around his ears and made a vague gesture with his hands.

"Can we try?" Draco swallowed, "I want to see you."

Harry bit his lips together and nodded. "Do you have, um... sometimes when I... I..."

Draco squinted at him for a moment as he attempted to decipher what on earth Harry was trying to get at. "Oh, OH! Yes. I think. Hang on." He sprawled across Harry and stretched a hand into his bedside drawer.

"Is this what you mean?" he asked, holding up a little green bottle for inspection.

Harry's cheeks lit up red; he nodded into the pillow rather than make eye contact. Draco's stomach flipped over as he tried to remember how to breathe.

"Right then," he said to himself, and then to Harry: "You're sure? Really absolutely positively-"

"Draco!"

"Yes?"

"Stop talking now."

"Right. I can do that," he said, fumbling with the bottle to get at the slippery contents within.

At first, all Harry could see were red blotches of pain occurring in time with the nervous thump of his heart. Somehow, he hadn't imagined it could hurt so much; part of him wanted to take Draco up on his suggestion that they stop. His ears filled with a loud buzz and the dull sound crowded out his ability to think and weighed on his arms. When the world of sound came back Draco took his cue to move his hips in time with his hand on Harry's cock.

"This... feels..."

Draco couldn't manage more than a grunt. They'd found a gentle rhythm and he fought to hold onto it for as long as possible but once it collapsed out from under him there was nothing left but frantic need and Harry. Both of them were blind and building towards the end and it came with a rush of sparks and wet heat.

* * *

"Harry! The sun's not even up yet!"

"It's getting that way though," Harry replied as he pulled on his socks.

"Sadist," Draco grumbled.

Harry scooped up his jeans and pulled them on, standing to fasten them. "I can't risk anyone seeing me."

"Harry Potter's dirty little secret, my father would be so proud."

"Draco!" Harry huffed and swung around only to find that Draco was wearing an amused smirk and dancing his fingers over the sheets. "Sorry, I thought you were being-"

"Difficult?"

Harry turned his attention back to getting dressed; he found his t-shirt halfway across the room. As he pulled it on, he was struck by the image of how it had come off and felt another excited twinge in his gut.

Harry stilled, "Any regrets?"

"Life's too short, Harry," Draco reassured him. "Hey, come here."

"Don't."

"Dear Merlin you have a suspicious mind, Potter," Draco extricated himself from the bed, holding the sheet around him at the neck and using his free hand to take up his wand; he looked something like a muggle parodying a wizard. He stepped toward Harry, gracefully ensuring he remained covered. He touched his wand to Harry's t-shirt and muttered something; it changed from blue to red.

"Can't have you getting caught sneaking back to bed in yesterday's clothes now can we?"

He ran his wand over the line of Harry's jaw and the stubble there disappeared, he touched it to the hollow of Harry's throat and a tinkling sensation spread outwards, removing the sticky traces of sweat and saliva and Harry dared not think what else.

"There, all gone. Never happened," Draco purred.

Harry shoved him back, "What's your game?"

"Well I'm rather fond of gobstones..."

"How about a little less sarcasm and a little more honesty. I know you disagree with this, you were quite vocal about it last night."

Draco thought about making another quip but decided it wouldn't help anything. "I wasn't trying to be sarcastic, I just didn't think you really had the time or inclination for a 'cards on the table' conversation right now. Aren't you supposed to be skulking your way across the castle?"

Harry's eyes flicked to the door, he clenched and unclenched his fingers. "Well let's have them then, your cards," he demanded with an agitated gesture.

Draco raised his eyebrows until Harry crossed his arms and looked down at his feet.

"I never imagined a person could feel the way I felt last night," he started carefully, "And... I really want to feel that way again. And just so we're clear, I'm not talking about the sex, mind blowing as it was," Draco saw Harry raise his eyes from the floor. "I'm talking about being with you. You're pretty amazing yourself, Harry. You can deny it all you want but I've seen it up close. And yes, I think you're an idiot for denying yourself the things that make you happy. And yes, I think you're an egotistical twat for believing that it's solely your responsibility to bring down that lunatic, but I said all this to you last night and you're still leaving now, just like you said you would," Draco shrugged, "I knew what I was getting into."

"Yeah, you did," Harry said quietly.

"So what's the point in talking about it?"

Harry bit his lips together in a small smile. "Not much," he turned to leave.

"Hey, Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"If you want my honesty I'll make sure you always have it, but don't expect to always like what you hear, okay?"

Harry nodded without making eye contact and escaped into the empty corridors of the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to Aima D. Duragon who is a wonderfully talented beta.


	2. Chapter 2

Forty-eight hours later, Draco left.

Harry watched from the castle as he trudged across the grounds to the Hogsmeade gate and apparated into the night. Guilt weighed heavily on his chest and the cold air stung his eyes.

"You alright mate?"

Ron stepped up behind him and clasped a hand on his shoulder.

"I don't know," Harry told him truthfully.

"What happened between you two?"

Harry's blood ran a little colder. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I know it's Malfoy, and historically he's been, you know, a bit of a dick, but lately he's been kinda... _decent_."

"You only think that because he lets you beat him at chess," Harry tried to deflect with a nervous little laugh.

"Come off it Harry, you were getting along with him too. And now... the past few days you can't even stand to be in the same room with him. Did he do something? Say something?"

"No. Look, you're way off base-"

"Then why send him on this ridiculous mission?"

"It's not ridiculous."

"Seriously, Harry? Firefeet? No one's seen one in 50 years. For all we know they were wiped out in the last war – which is precisely why if any of them _are_ still alive they wont be signing up to help us out with this one any time soon."

"Albus thinks-"

Ron held up a hand and continued calmly: "I'm not really interested in what Albus thinks right now – you're the one in charge here. And I was with you when it came to sending envoys to the Giants, the Centaurs, even the Werewolves. But this? This just looks like you trying to get rid of a problem."

"He's not a problem. I'm the problem, alright? Me."

Ron chewed on his lip and quietly nodded. "Okay."

The pair turned back to the window and gazed out at the grounds together in silence.

"He looked pretty pissed..." Harry commented softly. Ron saw it for the question it was.

"He seemed more disappointed to me. But fair play to him, I think he took the thing more seriously than the rest of us."

"If anyone could find these people and convince them, it would be him."

"The guy could sell feathers to a phoenix," Ron agreed. "Thank bloody fuck he's on our side, eh?"

Harry managed a half-smile.

"Come on you, it's freezing up here. Warm butterbeer, that's what we need," Ron told him, and with a squeeze of his shoulder led him down to the kitchens.

* * *

"Is that another progress update?"

Hermione sat herself across from Harry and squinted to read the parchment upside-down.

Months had passed since Draco's departure and while he sent progress updates twice a week - Tuesdays and Fridays like clockwork - there was never anything personal in them. Harry was very much aware that he was in the dog house and he definitely suffered it.

"Yeah," he answered his friend eventually.

"And?"

"Nothing," Harry huffed, casting the parchment aside with a careless flick of his wrist.

Hermione frowned. "May I?" she asked, indicating the discarded report.

Harry waved her on and sunk his head into his hands.

"Harry this isn't _nothing_ – he found them! Wait, no – they found _him_... Hang on... Ah, they're not to be convinced then? Oh Harry, I'm so sorry. Beings this powerful... well they would have been a real asset, but we always knew it was a long-shot, didn't we? I mean Malfoy's good, but he's not _that_ good... Harry? Are you listening to me?"

"Hmmm?"

Hermione set the parchment down and studied him, ready to catch his expression with her next words:

"So when's Malfoy due back again? Tomorrow is it?"

Harry pulled himself out of his slouch. "I suppose so…" he said with a deliberate shrug - the kind that should have looked casual but fell incredibly short of the mark.

Hermione pursed her lips. "Right then. Well I'd best be off."

Harry blinked. "What? Oh. Yeah, sure. That would be lovely, Hermione."

* * *

The following day Draco strolled up to the castle from the Hogsmeade gate, a bag slung over one shoulder and his face tilted to the white December sun. He might have grown in his months away, he certainly didn't look the worse for it.

When at long last he planted both feet in the entrance hall he dropped his belongings, threw his head back, and sucked in as much of the air as he could muster.

"The wanderer returns!" Remus called out to him.

Draco jerked his head in the direction of the voice. "Lupin!" he responded with a smile. "Just the man!"

"Oh?"

Draco glanced over his shoulder and waited until Remus was within normal hearing range. "Are you, uh, free for a chat?"

"What, now?"

Draco nodded enthusiastically, "If that's alright?"

"Of course," Remus agreed. "Although," he paused until he had Draco's full attention once more, "You seem a little distracted. Are you sure there isn't someone else you'd rather speak to first?"

Draco took stock of himself and grimaced. "Sorry. In all honesty, no, not really."

"I sense a 'but' coming on," Remus chucked as the pair began to make their way through the castle.

Draco rolled his eyes, "Well, is it too much to hope that one's dispatcher be present when one returns from several months of traipsing across Europe with nothing but his wits and a pretty face? Chased by fire-wielding centaurs I was… ravaged by rabid garden gnomes… verbally assaulted by flying carpet salesmen…"

"Did any of that actually happen?"

"Well, no… but I did get a nasty paper cut in Prague."

"I'm sure it was awful for you."

"It was actually. I'm considering therapy."

Remus raised an eyebrow at him. "Indeed."

Draco shifted under the weight of his stare. "What?"

"Nothing. You have a very familiar sense of humour, that's all."

"Fair enough," Draco shrugged, choosing to take it as a compliment.

A few minutes later they had successfully found, entered, and warmed-up Draco's rooms.

"Nice place you have here," Remus commented.

"Thanks," Draco said before settling himself down on the floor and beginning to rummage around in his bag.

"Uh, do you need a hand?"

"No, nope, just... gimmie a... ha! Got it"

"Got what?"

"This," Draco clarified, holding out a potions vial for appraisal.

"Right." Remus took it and gave it a little shake. A thick silver liquid sloshed around inside. "And what am I looking at exactly?"

"Well, ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies, but... there's a pretty damn good chance that'll cure your... wolfish tendencies?"

Remus was staring again. "Excuse me?"

"I mean that's if you wanted them cured, obviously. I'm not saying you _should_ or anything. I mean you've got the wolfsbane, and it's not like you're hurting anybody, though it sort of seems like the kind of thing that would be hurting _you_ , y'know? So-"

"Wait, what?"

Draco scrunched up his nose and decided to come clean.

"It was a gift from the Elementals."

"Who now?"

"Uh, sorry - we say Firefeet, they say Elementals – apparently it's offensive to characterise them solely by their fire-raising tendencies. Anyway-, there was one in particular, Branko his name was, he took... I suppose you could say an _interest_ in me?"

"An _interest_?"

Draco replayed his last words over in his head. "Oh, Merlin, no! Not _that_ kind of interest. It wasn't a creepy thing, it was a... it's hard to explain. We talked a lot. I think he felt guilty that the council refused to help us with the war. He asked if there was anything I wanted as a... I guess you could say a sort of consolation prize?"

"You're telling me these people have a cure for Lycanthropy and they just handed it over to you?"

"Pretty much."

Remus sat himself down on the bed in a daze.

"But you could have asked for anything."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, something for yourself, something for your family."

"I'm not sure I still have one of those to be honest. My mother, she's a good woman but... the things she and father have done... I don't know what'll happen to them after the war."

Remus looked over at him. His face seemed a few shades greyer that it had before. He also seemed to be trying to embed his knuckles in his cheek.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stir up bad feeling."

Draco took a deep breath and resettled himself. "Don't worry about it. Look, if you want to get it tested or whathaveyou then by all means do. I probably would. And I'll bet Snape would love to get his hands on that - jammy git could probably even work out what's in it too. Who knows, perhaps the pair of you could end up wiping out Lycanthropy for good, wouldn't that be something?"

Remus struggled with his words and thoughts. "I don't have anything to repay you with," he said eventually.

Draco shrugged off the gratitude, "I don't need money. Don't really need anything except to win the war. And Harry to stop being a bloody eejit."

Remus furrowed his eyebrows at him. "That's an interesting perspective you have there."

"You don't want to know, believe me."

"Try me," Remus prodded, and in his eye Draco saw a gleam of something that might understand.

"He pushes himself too hard," Draco said, testing out the water.

"You're right, he does."

"Sometimes I think..."

"Yes?"

"He's said things that make me think that he doesn't intend to survive the war."

Remus let out a sigh. "That sounds about right."

"You too?"

"Not lately, I think he got tired of me trying to talk him around. He's a very private person."

"Stubborn more like," Draco mused.

"No, he's definitely private too. He doesn't let many people in on what's going on in that head of his." Remus scrutinised the younger man for a moment. "Just how close are you two?"

"With all due respect that's not really-"

Remus held up his hands, "Shouldn't have asked, sorry, too curious for my own good sometimes."

Draco relaxed muscles that he didn't even realise he'd tensed. "Well if you ever come up with an answer, feel free to let me in on it."

Remus smiled kindly at him. "Perhaps you should just go and find him. I'm sure he'd be glad to see you."

Draco shook his head. "Doubtful."

"The thing is, he's been a awfully distracted these past few months."

"Oh?"

"Irritable too."

"He's always irritable," Draco threw back, though a nagging little voice in the back of his head reminded him that that wasn't strictly true.

"If I didn't know better I'd say he was feeling guilty about something..." Remus continued to fish.

"There goes that curiosity again, Lupin."

Remus bit his lips together. "You're right of course - my apologies, Draco." He directed his attention back to the vial in his hands. "I still don't feel like I fully understand why you did this for me, but I'm more grateful than you could ever imagine. Thank you."

"You mean a lot to him," Draco said quietly.

Realisation crept up Remus' face. "Oh."

"Don't 'oh'. There isn't anything to 'oh' about, alright?"

"Right you are. Indeed. I am on board and will proceed to know absolutely nothing about the current situation."

"I'm kicking you out now you great nosey git," Draco told him with a half-hearted shove.

"See now, this is the problem with today's youth, absolutely no respect for their elders."

Draco rolled his eyes and opened the door just as Remus reached out and ruffled his hair.

"Ger'off you big hairy manhandler!" Draco grinned, swatting him away.

Remus bowed out of the mischief gracefully. "It's good to have you back, Draco."

A small cough caused them both to turn.

"Harry," Draco said to its owner. "What are you doing here?"

"Coming to find out why you thought socialising was more important than being debriefed."

"Harry, he only got back twenty minutes ago, he hasn't even unpacked yet."

Draco felt a sudden swell of affection for his old Professor. He reached out and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. "I'll catch up with you later, Lupin. You'll let me know how you get on?"

"I think by now you're as well to call me Remus, don't you? And yes, I'll keep you posted."

"Good," Draco waved him off with a genuine smile.

Feeling decidedly ignored, Harry stepped around him and into the room where he proceeded to wait with his arms folded across his chest.

"That was incredibly rude," Draco told him as he entered and clicked the door shut.

"It looked pretty cosy from where I was standing."

Draco took him in, head to toe. "You're a bloody prat sometimes. What, you think I'm shagging men twice my age now?"

Harry turned slightly pink.

"And actually, if I were, what business would it be of yours?"

"Well of course it's my bloody business!"

Draco tilted his head and cracked his jaw. "I've gotta hear this," he decided, making a grand show of getting into a comfortable position on his bed. "Do continue."

Harry faltered and pulled his arms in tighter to his chest. "I _am_ being a prat."

"Yes you are," Draco told him smartly. "But at least you can admit it. That's progress at least."

"I don't know how to act with you anymore," Harry told him.

"Well I figured that out when you had me shipped off to the continent."

Harry chewed on his tongue for a moment. "It was an important mission. I sent you because I knew you had the best chance of pulling it off," he said softly.

Draco pursed his lips, "Harry, that's all very sweet and everything, but it's bullshit."

"Excuse you?"

"You sent me away because you didn't trust me not to try something after that night, that or you didn't trust yourself not to. Either way its crap, you said it was a one-time thing and I heard you, you didn't have to put half the world between us."

"You're not being fair."

Draco arched an eyebrow at him in defiance and Harry figured he may as well ask the question that had plagued him for months:

"You _are_ angry with me then?"

"Whatever gave you that impression?"

Harry sunk to the floor, head falling into his waiting hands. Draco took in the sight of him and almost immediately repented.

"No, I'm not," he said truthfully. "Mostly I just wish this atmosphere between us… wasn't. But I don't know how to fix it either, do I? So just… ask what you will, point me where you want me, and I'll make do."

"I don't want you to _'make do'_! Fuck!"

"Calm down-"

"I don't bloody want to calm down! I want us to be _us_ again!"

"Well if I knew what that was then maybe I could help, but to be quite frank I have no idea whether I'm coming or going with you anymore. At least before that night we could bicker, and take the piss out of each other, and... respect each other, but-"

"I respect you, Draco," Harry said pointedly.

"You don't trust me though. You never did, and that's... _fine_ , but I'd hoped..."

Harry sprang up and sat himself down on the bed, jostling Draco slightly as he did. "I know I should - _I want to_ \- I think I mostly do... It's not an easy thing for me, alright?"

"Well could you hurry the fuck up and make a decision sometime soon?"

Harry clasped his hands in his lap and smiled down at them. "You never pull your punches, do you? I've always admired that about you."

"You make it sound like I'm not long for this world."

Harry tilted his head to study him and kept on smiling.

"Will you be my friend, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco smirked, swinging his hand in Harry's general direction: "Took you long enough. Prick."

"I suppose I deserve that."

"Yup."

"Not gonna let me forget it any time soon are you?"

"Nope."

"So..."

"Pretty much."

"Fancy telling me about Remus now?"

"Ah, well. Not much to tell really. Quick romp and out the door."

Harry smacked him upside the head.

"Oi!"

"It had something to do with your trip didn't it?"

Draco wet his lip and dragged it between his teeth. "You got my last status report?"

"I did... And I'm getting the sense that I'm not going to like where this is going."

"It's nothing bad," Draco said, making an effort to soften his face."The part involving Remus certainly isn't. I'm just trying to figure out how much to tell you of the rest."

"How about _all of it_?"

Draco shifted, putting a little more distance between them on the bed. "I was in the south east - not far outside of Belgrade. I was staying in this little room above a pub while I investigated some local legends that I thought might lead me to a Firefoot or two."

"Go on."

"And so one night, I head up to my room after a particularly long day to find this old guy sat on my bed, quite the thing. And he's wearing this beat up old fedora and a great big bushy moustache, and he says 'I think you better come with me, boy'. Next thing I know I'm in the middle of some forest surrounded by half a dozen more of these guys, and they're all chanting and beating the ground with sticks, and I have no idea what they're on about but it doesn't sound cute and fluffy, you know?"

Harry could do little more than gape at him.

"And they had this test that they wanted to perform - to see if I was worthy to put forward my case. And I was... well let's be honest I was fucking petrified-"

"So you told them 'thanks but no thanks' and came straight back home, of course?"

"Well... not exactly," Draco confessed. "I'd been on their trail for months, I wasn't about to pass up the only opportunity I'd ever have. And they made it perfectly clear that that's what it was."

Harry shook his head in disbelief, guarding his mouth with his fingers.

"And what _was_ this test?"

Draco rolled his shoulders and clasped his arms tight. "They just sort of... had a bit of a rummage around," he said with a shrug.

"In what, your sock drawer?"

"My heart."

"Please tell me you're talking figuratively," Harry warned.

"Uh, no. They kind of..." Draco finished the explanation by making a twisting motion with his fingers.

"You reckless fucking twat! I can't believe you!"

Draco considered telling him to calm down again but it seemed fairly futile.

"It was important. It was worth the risk."

"Nothing is that important, do you understand me!?"

"Harry!" Draco held up his hand. "There's nothing wrong with me. And maybe it _was_ reckless, but that's my prerogative. I've never needed you to look after me. Besides, it was also worth it."

Harry didn't seem convinced _at all_ , but he did have 'frustrated and betrayed' down to a fine art.

"They're not bad people you know," Draco tried again, "They just… hate wizards."

"Case and point," Harry ground out. "You're alright though? You passed this so-called test?"

"I have a pure heart apparently, who knew?" Draco laughed.

The look Harry gave him bellowed _'I did you fucking prat'_ and _'you're one step away from me throttling you'_ all at once.

"They asked if I wanted to stay," Draco said softly. "Become one of them."

A violent and possessive thing snapped through Harry, "And you said?"

"No, obviously."

"Good."

The word was out of Harry's mouth and slapped down like a piece of butcher's meat before he could stop it. The corners of Draco's lips twitched upwards. Harry fumbled awkwardly for something to break the ensuing silence.

"They really must have taken a liking to you... to offer you something like that..."

"It was one in particular really. His name was Branko, he was one of the chanting men. Turns out they were the elders of the people I'd been searching for – Elementals they called themselves. I used the term Firefeet once and nearly got my tongue cut out!" Draco chuckled softly to himself whereas Harry looked rather alarmed. "I don't think the other elders ever intended to help us with the war, regardless of whether or not I passed their test, but Branko, he listened, even while he had reservations of his own."

"That was good of him," Harry said stiffly.

"He said I reminded him of his son."

Harry blinked and relaxed somewhat.

"We talked for days. He told me about his village, his magic, their world. It was... incredible."

Harry hesitated over his next question: "Do you regret it?" he asked. "Coming back here I mean."

Draco considered him carefully, taking in all the little details he'd almost forgotten in his time away. "No."

"You hesitated," Harry accused.

"I got distracted," Draco brushed him off. "One day our world's going to shine again, Harry. Like theirs does. I want to be here to see it."

Harry felt like he might be turning pink again but for entirely different reasons.

"Was he terribly disappointed?"

"Wouldn't you be?"

The words were simple. There was no tone, no glint in Draco's eye, nothing to make Harry read any further into them except the words themselves.

Draco watched him squirm for a full minute before moving the conversation along: "He gave me a gift," he said. "Sort of an _'I'm sorry my people are selfish bastards'_ thing."

"Yeah? What was it?"

"A potion to remove a werewolf's curse."

Harry squinted at him. "I don't," he tried, but his voice tapered off. He scrunched his eyes shut and attempted to shake the wrackspurts out of his ears.

"We don't know if it works yet," Draco pointed out.

"He's been cursed since he was a kid."

"Oh?" Draco asked, unsure what else to say. "I didn't know."

"His whole life," Harry started again. "You don't know what this will mean to him."

"Well, he seemed pretty happy about it right enough," Draco said, rubbing the sweat off the back of his neck. "So that's, um, pretty much the whole story."

Harry nodded absently. "Thank you," he said. "And I can't believe I thought you were _shagging_. Urg!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been edited since original publication to address some characterisation issues. None of the outcomes have changes.


	3. Chapter 3

"Dear fucking mercy, how do you stand these feckless meetings day in-day out? Don't you ever just get the urge to climb onto the table and start screaming? I mean, just to see what everyone would do?"

Harry laughed as Draco flounced onto his bed, and climbed up to sit cross-legged by his feet. He lay motionless long enough that Harry grew bored watching him and began to flick his shins here and there.

"Hey! Quit it!"

"Sorry," Harry ducked his head.

"No, _I'm_ sorry. How rude of me," Draco gestured theatrically. "I clean forgot that you're in constant need of attention."

"Oi!"

"No, no need to deny it. You're the great and wondrous saviour after all; us mere mortals were put here to satisfy your every need," Draco sighed. "I've long accepted my place in life."

"Prat!"

Draco shifted himself up onto his elbows, "Harry?"

"Mmm?"

"Where do you think we'll be ten years from now?"

Draco watched him closely. He saw the way his jaw clenched up, and the deep breath he took, and the way he forced the sharp swill of irritation away. He wondered if Harry had guessed he had taken to studying him like this – deliberately pushing this button and trying to provoke a reaction. Not too often, not so as to drive him off, just enough to get a glimpse of what might be going on in that thick skull of his.

Being around Harry was fascinating and bizarre sometimes: Draco had grown up with two faces, he understood about nuances and politics and dark intentions, but there was nothing dark about Harry. Draco's mother had always taught him that _good_ men had no need to conceal themselves, and even at a young age he worked out what that made his father and his associates - he knew what he was being raised to be. He had this naïve sense in his very core that if he ever escaped that life he would be unconstrained, he would leave his heart open, and that's how he would know that _he_ was a good man. But Harry was twisting all of it, and while sometimes his old conceptions seemed to be holding true, more and more often he felt like everything he'd ever believed about right and wrong was a fairytale.

For his part, Harry was oblivious to the effect he had. His stomach was tearing and stretching itself into a knot. Ten years? The question was as inconceivable as the answer. He inwardly growled, wondering why the universe thought it had a right to grapple at him in a rare moment of peace. He didn't blame Draco - in fact he _refused_ to because that would mean getting into an argument with the one person who indulged him, who harboured him from the world and let him laugh and untie himself. And even if Harry knew it was wrong to want to slack off from his duty, in this room Draco was judge, and Draco could absolve him.

"Where do _you_ think you'll be?" he deflected in the end.

Draco rolled his eyes at him and smooshed his face into his waiting hands, knowing not to press the issue, "Me? I'll be some high powered suit wearing type. You'll be my lowly minion."

"Is that right?"

Draco rolled over onto his back, "'Fraid so."

Harry snorted and nudged him in the side with his foot.

Draco stretched out, hands clasped over his head, the veins in his arms popping and pulsing in a solid rhythm. He groaned, "I need to get out of this castle."

Harry felt his heart twist at the thought, "What, _leave_?"

"Fuck no! Just for a bit of breathing space. I need a night on the town or something."

"You missing your jaunts around Europe already?"

"They were hardly jaunts."

"Sorry, forgot about the paper-cut."

"There I was... wounded and alone..." Draco swooned for a moment. "But seriously, come out with me? Not far, just to Hogsmeade maybe..?"

Harry tensed, "Like on a date?"

"You wish!" Draco scoffed, mostly to hide the fact that if he thought he could get away with it, that's exactly what he'd be asking. "Call it a change of scenery. We spend all of our time in this room, and while I'm flattered that you've made my quarters your personal sanctuary, you should get some fresh air. You look like shit, Potter."

Harry thumped his leg, "Thanks! Dick. Can't though - training."

"Thought that was at two?"

Harry sagged, "Two till ten."

Draco chewed his lip and cast Harry a sidelong glance. "You need your head looked at," he murmured.

Harry just shrugged and traced the stitching on the bedspread with his fingers. "I shouldn't even be here now—Hermione wanted to talk to me about some books."

Draco frowned and gave him a little shove, "Well do me a favour and take your books out into the sun will you?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Oi, watch it!" Draco chastised. "Pasty-faced eejit," he added in a grumble.

"Do you want to join us?"

"Nah, I've some business to take care of at the bottom of the lake."

Harry scrunched up his face, "What?"

Draco's eyes took on that glint that told Harry quite plainly he was up to something he shouldn't be.

* * *

Hermione shielded her eyes from the sun and looked out over the lake.

"Is that _Draco_?" she asked of the figure being pelted into the air by one of the giant squid's tentacles.

" _Waahahahoo!"_

"What the hell is he doing?"

Harry picked at the grass and shrugged, "Having fun by the sounds of it."

"He'll get himself killed."

Harry gazed out across the water and sought Draco out, he was swimming toward the centre now in confident strokes.

Hermione sighed and went back to her book.

"Did you know he speaks Mermish?"

"Can't say I did," Hermione drawled, disinterested.

"He reckons they're hiding something down there."

"Oh? Like what?"

"He's not sure, just thinks it's important somehow."

"And he didn't bring this up in the briefing this morning because..?"

Harry shrugged a second time, "You know him, he doesn't work that way."

"Actually I don't," Hermione clipped.

"Don't what?"

"Know him. Frankly I don't want to. He's a spoiled, reckless, brat, who refuses to follow the rules and somehow slips through everything unscathed!"

"I know, it's obnoxious isn't it?" Harry laughed. Draco had ducked down beneath the surface, his feet kicked toward the sky for a brief moment before disappearing under too. Harry scanned the surface, wondering where he would reappear and why Hermione was still talking.

* * *

Draco's whole body relaxed into a languid curl as he circled down into the heart of the lake. The water flowing past him grew thicker in his gills but he wasn't concerned by that. The Merfolk, now _they_ concerned him - their acceptance of him stretched about as far as not actively jabbing him with their pitchforks; Draco kept his wits sharp and his eyes fast.

He spotted a sliver of something on the lake bed, a light of some kind: faint, blood red and beating in time with the current. He reached for it and his fingers were smacked back by an angry merman. One of the merman's eyes was gnarled shut but that just made the him look all the more menacing. He stared at Draco and Draco stared right back without so much as a blink. He was rather proud of himself actually.

After some time the merman snorted and veered past him, casting a look over his shoulder that said, "Have it your way then."

Draco dug around in the silt and pulled his prize free. It was heavy and metallic; a coin, like a shining red galleon with markings Draco didn't recognise or understand.

He realised then that his skin had started to burn with the cold and was grateful that he could head for land. Before he could act, his shoulder wrenched around of its own accord, his knee jerked back and his eyes snapped shut.

* * *

_Sweat dripped down over Draco's face, or was it rain? He'd lost track hours ago. Shaking and exhausted he looked around at the garden that he had carved into the hillside. It thrummed with magic and life of every colour._

_He wiped his dirt stained hands on his robes and picked up his wand, "_ _Expecto Patronum,_ _" he whispered._

_A unicorn of pure light launched forth and cantered around him._

_"This is your new home," he told it._

_He knelt to trace his fingers over the letters etched into the marble coverstone at his feet._

_"Keep her safe for me."_

* * *

_Draco exhaled a long breath and steadied himself on the alter. He could go on, he would go on._

" _He was a man who worked hard for what he had, he expected the same from those close to him. He was our pillar, our judge and our compass. He saw worth in me that I didn't know I had. He taught me how to be strong and how to accept kindness; he also taught me that the two aren't mutually exclusive." Draco smiled to himself at that._

" _We didn't always see eye to eye, he was a hard man to please sometimes." Draco saw some of the congregation nod in fond agreement. "But he always made sure that I knew he was proud of the things I had achieved, and I achieved those things because he was proud._

 _"He was my dad... and I will always be his son._ _"_

* * *

_Three mounds of mismatched duvet sat huddled next to each other in a row, each with nothing more than a face peering out from the top. Their breath puffed up in clouds to remind them of the cold._

" _Who's on tea duty?" Draco asked._

" _Richard," the girl mound answered._

" _Is it fuck - I went last time."_

" _Well I'm not going," Draco said._

" _Fine, we'll just be tealess," Richard answered._

" _I give it five minutes 'till you crack."_

" _Challenge accepted."_

_After a while the girl mound started to sing to herself and shuffle about as though dancing. The boys looked at each other and shook their heads, bemused._

" _Hey, Richard?"_

" _Yeah?"_

 _Draco felt a warm glow settle over him, "_ _I love our family._ _"_

" _Hey, Draco?" Richard rocked his duvet mound sideways to give him a cushioned little shove._

" _Yeah?"_

" _You're completely mental."_

* * *

Draco awoke vaguely aware that half of his face was packed in something soggy. His eyelashes tried to stick together as he opened them and he realised then that he had washed up on the lake shore. He choked up a lungful of brackish water and pulled himself to his feet. An awful shrieking turned his head; the merman with the deformed eye had surfaced and beckoned him with a gnarled index finger.

 _"Your power,"_ he pointed at the strange red galleon still in Draco's hand.

_"What?"_

_"Those with courage find their strength in the deep, shown the power their hearts will keep."_

Draco dropped to his knees and his mind choked with fog as he tried to make sense of the words and his visions. The merman was long gone by the time he gave up, thrust the coin into his pocket, and took off for the castle at a sprint to find Harry.

* * *

As Draco approached the vaulted castle doors Remus and Professor Slughorn stepped out to bar his way.

"Hi," Draco grinned, bending double to catch his breath. "Merlin when did I get so unfit!?"

Remus and Slughorn shared an uneasy glance.

"What's up with you two? You look like- Oh fuck, has something happened?"

"It's Harry-"

Draco's bones rattled, eyes flitting between and behind them, "Where?"

"Draco-"

"Tell me where he is! What's happened?" Draco demanded. "Oh fuck it, I'll find him myself!"

He made to pass them but Slughorn pointed his wand at his chest, "We can't let you do that."

"What? Get to f-"

"Dumbledore asked us to fetch you to his office," Remus told him gently.

Prevented from action all the blood drained to Draco's feet, leaving him with the feeling that they were made of lead. He swallowed to try to moisten his throat, "Is he- Is he-"

Cogs quite visibly started to whirr in Remus' head, "Draco he's not dead! Sorry - we're all a bit shaken up, I should have said that first."

"Yes, you bloody well should have!"

"Mind your tongue, Mr. Malfoy!"

Draco ignored Slughorn and focused on Remus, "He's okay?"

"No," Slughorn interjected, "He's in the hospital wing, and you'll be going to Dumbledore to explain yourself!"

"Explain myself?" Draco felt oddly like he was back underwater. "You think I hurt Harry?"

He looked so wounded that Remus' heart ached for him.

"It's irrelevant what we think, Dumbledore will have his reasons," Slughorn took Draco by the shoulder and hustled him up the steps.

"Remus, how could you think that?"

"I don't, I've told Albus that and I'll keep telling him until he listens, whatever's going on we'll get to the bottom of it."

Draco nodded absently and allowed himself to be shuffled along.

"Will he be okay?" he asked just as they approached the headmaster's office.

"I honestly don't know, Draco, I don't know what's happened, only that he collapsed in training. Nobody's been allowed in to visit him."

"But I've been down at the lake, how could I-"

"I don't know, Draco. But I've never seen Albus this angry."

Slughorn tutted his disapproval and frogmarched him onto the revolving platform. He and Remus were both dismissed as soon as Draco was safely deposited, and Remus had been right: Dumbledore looked livid.

* * *

"Sit, Mr. Malfoy."

"Professor, whatever you think I've done-"

"I said _sit down._ "

Draco tensed himself into the nearest chair, flattening his hand on his knee to stop it from shaking.

"Can I see him?"

"No. You will stay here until I'm satisfied I have the truth from you."

"What do you want to know?"

"Exactly what is the nature of your relationship with Harry?"

"We're friends."

"I'm not in the mood for lies."

"I'm not lying!"

"You're not making this any easier on yourself."

"What difference does it make? I haven't done anything to him!"

"I'll be the one to decide that I think. Now tell me the truth."

Draco felt the urge to start throwing the man's stupid trinkets as hard as he could in every direction.

"I've done nothing but try to help him since I got here," he ground out. "If he's collapsed it's because he's exhausted, not because I've put a fucking hex on him! He's working himself into fucking oblivion because you've got him thinking that the entire war effort rests on his shoulders!"

"I'm not the one on trial here, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore hissed.

"And _I_ am!?"

"Our best hope of winning this war is lying in a hospital bed haemorrhaging blood and hanging onto his mental faculties' by a thread, so yes, Mr. Malfoy, you are! Don't paint me into the villain here! I didn't want this life for him, nor did I push him into it. Harry understands the sacrifices of war, he wants to fight, he wants to save lives, just as we all do. Distractions will only get him killed, and despite what you may think, Draco, I want him to get out of this war alive."

"Well he doesn't!"

In all the weeks he'd been back on British soil, Draco still hadn't quite decided for himself how true this statement was. He prayed it wasn't, but in the heat of the argument it seemed like the right mud to fling.

Dumbledore hung his head and steadied himself.

"You may be right."

Draco bore his eyes into the floor, fantasising that he could tunnel his way out and escape to find Harry.

"Are you and Harry in a relationship?"

"We might be if he weren't so terrified of being happy -" Draco snapped, "- Sorry, I meant to say _'distracted'_."

Dumbledore sighed, "Are you sleeping together?"

Draco's insides boiled up with embarrassed rage, "No."

"Look at me."

Draco brought his eyes up defiantly to meet the old man's piercing gaze.

"But you did?"

"Once. Months ago. Can I see him now, _Sir_?" Draco ground out.

"No. The hospital wing is closed to all visitors until Harry is in a fit state to receive them. And even then, I am specifically ordering you to stay away from him."

"For how long?"

"Until the war is won."

"How exactly do you expect me to do that? We're on the same fucking side!"

"I suggest you figure it out, now go."

"That's it? That's all you wanted - to pry into his private life? What, did you sense that for a few brief moments he might have stopped putting everyone else ahead of himself and feel an inconsolable need to stamp on it?"

"Don't test me, Draco!"

In that moment Dumbledore seemed to age a hundred years, Draco stalked out of the office rather than push his luck any further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Aima D. Duragon.


	4. Chapter 4

Draco's head raved and reeled him through the castle and took none of it in; splinters of rhetoric clattered around his brain and manifested themselves pointlessly across his face, clinging to an argument left behind and lost. Snape looked down at him when he arrived.

"Have you seen him?"

The Potions Master stepped aside - before he was pushed - and closed the door behind them.

"Well? If someone were bleeding to death on my watch I'd call the man with the ruddy great vat of blood replenishing potion or am I missing something?"

"That's really Slughorn's job now," Snape said, sidestepping the real issue.

"Oh don't even get me started on fucking Slughorn."

Snape suppressed his distaste at the foul language. "Draco, sit-"

"Don't fucking tell me to sit down, just tell me what's going on!"

"I will once you sit."

"... fucking Dumbledore and his idiotic questions about us… fucking business is it of his?"

Snape himself sat and began to rub his temples. "Did you sleep with Harry last summer? Late summer…"

Draco's rant caught in his throat and his head swivelled as if on a rail, "How did you know that? Did he tell you or did you go poking around in his head?" he accused, "You know, he's entitled to some fucking privacy, Severus! What _is it_ with you people?"

"Were you careful?"

"What do you mean _'was I careful?'_ Did he say I hurt him? Is that why everyone's treating me like the next dark lord rising? Because if he did then someone's twisted his head," Draco insisted. "We're _friends_ , he wouldn't lie about something like that. He wouldn't even if we _weren't_ friends. I mean-"

"Draco, stop!" Snape rattled out a sigh. "That's not what I meant."

Draco squinted at him, "I don't understand."

"Were you _careful?_ Did you use..."

"Urg," Draco shuddered, "Stop! For fucks sake will you just tell me how he is!"

Snape chose his words very carefully. "He'll recover, he's strong and he's in good hands, but it _will_ take time."

"Right, okay," Draco flipped into action mode. "So I need Harry's cloak, and probably his map, which means I need to get into that bloody tower... stupid prat should have moved out of the dorms like a sane person... "

"Draco, I really must insist you sit down and pay attention."

"I don't have time-"

"Make the bloody time you ignorant little scroat!" Snape barked at him. "Now, were you careful?"

"Severus, I didn't _give_ him anything, okay? There hasn't been anyone else, so whatever you think he's got... Oh for fucks sake! You don't even know what's wrong with him then, do you? How can you tell me he'll be fine when you don't even know what's fucking wrong with him!? If none of you idiots can take proper care of him then I-"

"DRACO! SIT DOWN! You know very well how competent I am, I know precisely what is wrong with Harry and if you shut up for long enough I will tell you!"

"GET TO THE FUCKING POINT THEN!"

Snape faltered in the vacuum that followed.

Draco sat down next to him and put his hands in his lap, "Severus, you're scaring me," he whispered, "We'll put everything right again, I promise. If I can get to Harry everything will be okay, it'll all make sense - I know it, I don't know how, I just do."

"Harry had a miscarriage."

The words hovered in front of Draco and he couldn't bring them in or send them back, all the pieces in his head started to whir in the other direction and got ruined in the process.

"Say something else."

"Draco..."

"Anything else, anything else..."

* * *

Draco wasn't aware of his screams until long after they had stopped and he realised his lungs were scratched raw. White flesh tinged red came away from under his nails; he saw the gouges running down his old Professor's neck and didn't have enough of himself left to feel ashamed. Instead he sat in the quiet and drank cup after cup of sweet tea until it started to fizz inside him like salt on a fire.

"He didn't know?" Draco hated that it came out like a question.

"I don't think so, he's not talking much."

"He didn't know," Draco said more firmly.

"I believe you."

"I want to see him."

"Okay."

Draco couldn't feel grateful for Snape's lack of argument, to him there was no question that this was what should be done. When they reached the hospital wing he didn't even register Madame Pomfrey's protests but instead stepped around them and let Snape take care of that too. He couldn't care less what they said to each other so long as they stayed by the door and away from him.

Harry lay curled around himself under a thin white sheet; Draco wondered how he wasn't frozen solid and why Pomfrey had allowed it. He frowned and brushed the hair away from Harry's eyes, startled to find them glasslike and tilted toward the pillow.

"Hey," he said gently.

"Hey," Harry croaked back.

"How do you feel?"

Harry's mouth worked around a lack of words. He freed his hand with a wince and grasped his fingers in the direction of Draco's. Hot new tears poured from some waiting reservoir, though he could have sworn he'd drained the last of them; he felt the hollowness of his bones and it ached like nothing he'd ever known. Draco was whispering things in his ear but he couldn't process it, he just let them pass over him and soothe what places they could.

"I can't breathe, I think I've forgotten how..."

Draco carefully widened the bed and lay down alongside him, "Watch me, okay? In, out."

"Don't leave me alone."

Draco pulled the sheet over himself and drew closer, "I won't."

* * *

Draco woke to the sound of hushed voices from behind the curtains of the furthest cubicle and padded over to investigate. Pulling the curtain aside he found Dumbledore reaching his arms out to Madame Pomfrey who cradled a soft pink blanket to her chest. It took longer than it should have for him to understand.

"What are you doing with her?" Draco hissed, "Don't touch her."

"She needs to be laid to rest my boy."

"I'm not your boy. Your boy grew up, but he's over there in pieces if you have anything remotely helpful to say to him."

"I've already spoken with him - my help to him is taking care of this situation so that he doesn't have to."

Draco glanced back to make sure Harry was still sleeping, "You can't just label this a fucking _'situation'_ and wipe it away you half-baked eejit!"

"I can if it's what's in his best interests."

"Who are you to decide what's in his fucking best interests!?"

"This is what he wants."

"How the hell would you know?"

"I asked him."

Draco felt the revelation slam into his stomach and it stayed there. "Well you didn't ask _me_."

"This is none of your concern."

"She's my daughter!"

"She was never your daughter," Dumbledore said gently, "She was never alive."

"I have a right to know what you intend to do with her."

"I told you, she'll be laid to rest."

"Where?"

"You don't need to know that."

Draco's nostrils flared the way his father's did when one of the house-elves got under his feet.

"You mean no one will. You're going to dump her in some hole in the ground and hope the whole thing gets forgotten."

"I'm not as callow as you seem to have decided, Draco. But it will do nothing but harm if this gets out. If the people think that Harry is weak - in any way, for any reason - they'll start to give up."

"I don't give a shit about the people. My daughter deserves to know that she was loved, in death if nothing else."

"This is why you should have kept him out of this," Dumbledore glared at Pomfrey.

"You have three options," Draco snarled, "You can kill me right now where I stand, you can give her to me so I can bury her properly, or I can go to the Prophet and tell them everything."

"Do you think that will help Harry?"

"This is about her, not him, and you have five seconds to make up your mind."

"Where will you take her?"

"Somewhere unplottable, does that help you?" Draco spat.

"The ministry has all the unplottable locations on file."

"Then I'll create a fucking new one! I was raised by a bloody deatheater, you think I don't know how to do that?"

"I actually didn't," Dumbledore looked completely disturbed by the prospect.

"Well?"

Dumbledore looked between him and the bundle of blankets, "Very well then."

* * *

Left alone behind the curtain and trapped with his consequences Draco stared down at the tiny thing in the centre of it all. He lifted her from the basket that was much too big and settled her in his lap, his mind dredging up all sorts of thoughts that didn't seem appropriate, yet he couldn't shake free of them - like where did the blanket come from, and who had cleaned her face?

He took a deep breath and forced himself to deal with his heart. It surprised him when no tears fell; he gazed down at her in confusion, questioning the good of his soul, if maybe there'd been none there at all. And slowly it came, magic creeping down over his skin and hers, iridescent and right where it should be.

"There you are. Carina," Draco whispered, suddenly remembering the letters etched into the marble in his vision, "I'm going to make you a place so beautiful you'll never want to leave it, and you're going to be safe there. And I'll never be far, I promise."

Draco knew he should check on Harry, but leaving had never been harder. He did though, eventually. Harry didn't see him, he looked right through as if to count the jars on the shelf behind.

"You left," he stated.

"I was with her."

"Her…" Harry repeated. "Her…"

"They didn't tell you that?"

"I told them not to."

"Oh."

Draco struggled to accept this last swerve the night had pulled him through.

"I'm going to take her up into the hills. Do you want to say goodbye?"

"Let Dumbledore deal with that. Stay with me. We can wake up tomorrow like we woke up today and everything will be okay, nothing will have changed."

"Harry…"

"Please just don't go... I need you here, okay? I didn't think I did but I do. Just for a little while, just until I can stand it again. You don't have to stay forever, just for a little while. Please…"

"I have to do this before he changes his mind. I'll be back before dawn..."

"Please just leave it alone, you don't have to go. It was a mistake what we did, but we can make it alright again. We can make it go away and be us again, and then it'll be okay, wont it?"

"Harry, you're exhausted. Close your eyes; Open them at dawn and I'll be next to you, okay?"

Harry's eyelashes fluttered home as Draco kissed his cheek farewell.

* * *

The frozen mountainside had been desolate and unforgiving when he'd arrived but he'd worked to the blueprint in his head, glad to escape himself for an hour - hours? He'd lost track somewhere amongst the sweat and rain.

The sky was heavy with magic, and every colour seemed to thread through the ground: up into the trees and around the leaves: a perfect bubble of life in the most isolated place he could find. Around it he'd cast every shield and deterrent he could muster.

He conjured up his patronus - a Unicorn of bright white light he'd named Mississippi when he was a boy, just because he liked the feel of the word in his mouth.

"This is your new home," he told it.

The cool marble beneath his fingers read 'Carina Io Malfoy', and he knew it was right for her.

"Keep her safe for me girl."

* * *

Draco's boots sluiced rain through a few choice breaks in the leather; his wrecked head clung to the lights outlining the castle on the horizon and the promise of sleep.

Still, he reached the courtyard and shied from the door. No Remus to greet him, just cold sky slamming into his upturned face.

"Why couldn't you just leave it alone?"

Draco whipped in the direction of Harry's voice and found him sitting at the foot of a broken gargoyle.

"What are you doing out here? You'll catch your death."

Harry waited to see if Draco would try to smooth over his words but he just made a self-berating sort of gesture and it didn't seem like enough to hold against him.

"Come inside, its freezing."

"I want to stay out here."

"I'll carry you if I have to."

Harry scoffed and Draco knew they were on the edge of something ugly.

"Same old spoilt, self-centred brat you always were."

Draco closed his eyes.

"What, you're not going to disagree?"

"I know what you're trying to do."

"You know everything don't you? You know what's better for me than I do. What I want never comes into it."

"...I'm sorry you feel that way... I never meant-"

"I never wanted to be your friend, but you just- you were _always_ there. You sunk your claws into Ron, and Remus, even Molly and Arthur - running around pulling horcruxes out of nowhere and handing out miracle potions, I couldn't even get away from you in my own head!"

Harry's fists were balled so tightly it was a wonder there wasn't blood dripping from them.

"I didn't want to love you. I have more to _do_ than that, I told you that so many times and you said you heard it but you didn't. You stand there, and you look at me, and what I want stops making sense and it's your fault - don't try to make out like it's not on purpose, you're not that dense," Harry accused. "I had one choice left to make and you took it away, just like you take everything that's mine and make it yours, and now I can't stand what's left of me because it's nothing when you're not there and even less when you are. You've ruined me, are you happy?"

Draco swallowed to loosen the choke hold around his throat. "Come inside," he said plainly.

"That's all you have to say?"

"For now."

"Did you even listen or did you take that away from me too?"

"I can't speak for you - obviously - but I don't need this right now. I need sleep and dry clothes."

"Well maybe I need this!"

"You can scream at me perfectly well inside the castle, I'll even put up wards."

"Are you trying to be funny?"

"No," Draco took a soothing breath. "I'm just trying to be practical."

Harry shoved him hard in the shoulder. "Well fucking stop it!"

"Don't hit me."

A harder shove answered him.

"Stop it."

"Why should I!?"

"Because you're hurting me."

"So stand up for yourself!"

"I'm not about to fight you, Harry—you're in no fit state for one thing."

Harry fell into him with his fists, "Don't. Fucking. Patronise. Me!"

Draco pushed him away; Harry careened into the gargoyle and a jut of stone caught him in the back. He bent double and gasped for air.

"I didn't- I'm sorry. Come on, I'll take you back to the hospital wing."

"I don't want anything from you! Just leave me the fuck alone!"

Draco clenched his teeth, turned on his heel and took two steps toward the courtyard steps. Harry watched him with a kind of morbid curiosity, he realised then that the last thing he wanted was for Draco to go, not that he'd say that. He'd given himself up to despair when all of a sudden Draco veered back towards him. Harry's heart jerked back up sharply, then raced when Draco made to hook his arms underneath him.

"What are you playing at!" Harry made himself demand, "Get off!"

"Well get up then!"

Harry successfully fought down the stupid urge to smile that was filling up his chest, "No! Fuck you!"

But with the ice in his bones and the blizzard spiralling out of control in his head, Draco didn't understand the complicated dance they were doing, or see it for what it was.

"Grow up, Harry!" he spat, "You're acting like a fucking child! You're not the only one in pain here! She was my daughter too."

The hope went out of Harry just as suddenly as it had reappeared. It was just as well, he thought. He narrowed his eyes and slowly got to his feet, turning to leave. "Don't ever talk about her again."

Draco grabbed Harry's arm, spun him back around, and threw the galleon from the lake at his feet; Harry's eyebrows ducked as he struggled to make sense of the gleaming red thing now half-sunk into the mud.

"It shows you the people who'll make you strong," Draco ground out. "And I understand now why I didn't see you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Aima D. Duragon.


	5. Chapter 5

"No, I want Dawlish."

Draco rolled his eyes. Order meetings had become even more pointless since Harry had decided he was incompetent - and these days no one argued with the all mighty chosen one. He'd reinvented himself as the embodiment of his publicity: fierce, resolute, and unapologetic. People had fallen in line so quickly they might have been imperioused.

Draco supposed it made them feel more secure, like this must mean they were nearing the end of it all, like if they put their heads down and did as they were told then Harry would have it all sorted in time for supper.

Shacklebolt hectically scratched this amendment onto the parchment in front of him and then studied it a while longer, "Fine, Draco you'll be with me then."

"No."

Draco addressed Harry directly, "Would you like me to stay here and knit you a new tea cosy?" he asked sweetly.

That was it, the only thing he had left to give Harry: to take all the pieces of him that cared about any of it and swallow them down out of his sight. He'd apologised in every other way he could think of. He'd poured his heart out onto parchment, he'd gotten down on his knees and begged, seized every possible gesture of goodwill, taken every opportunity to demonstrate his worth, and it'd all meant nothing.

"Don't get smart with me. You'll head a team in the second wave."

Draco clucked his tongue, "I could probably knit you a tea cosy from there for all the action I'll see."

Harry ignored him and Shacklebolt made more scribbles on his parchment.

Remus watched them with a heavy heart, neither of them would tell him what had happened, and he hadn't pushed, but he could see how much they were both hurting. He leaned over and whispered in Draco's ear, "Chin up, whatever it is, he'll come round eventually."

Draco made a face that said _'Don't count on it'_ before he noticed Harry scowling at them and turned his concentration back to the upcoming battle.

* * *

"So what the hell is going on with you and Harry?"

Draco's remaining bishop crumbled under an assault from one of Ron's knights and he winced.

"He's angry with me, for reasons I'm not going to get into. Some of them are probably justified though."

"Should I be doing the best mate bit then? I could flush your head down one of the loos?"

Draco wanted to be good-natured but to make light of the whole thing repulsed him, so he just said _"Don't."_

Ron studied him with a little pity.

"Don't do that either."

Ron shook his head and prodded one of his pawns. "You there, look out!" It gave a squawk and hopped forward out of the way of Draco's rook.

"Damn you," Draco groaned.

Harry climbed through the portrait hole and flung a few choice insults over his shoulder to the fat lady.

"Geeze mate, what did she do to deserve that?" Ron asked him.

Harry almost replied but got distracted by Draco.

"What're _you_ doing in here?"

Draco shot Ron an apologetic look. "And on that note... Thanks for the thrashing, I never liked my dignity anyway," he said.

Ron frowned. "Harry, come on."

"What?"

"You're being a _dick_."

Harry's eyes hardened, "Shove it."

"What is _wrong_ with you these days?"

"Ron..." Draco warned out of the corner of his mouth.

Harry ground his teeth, he scowled at Draco and then back at Ron, "Oh do whatever the fuck you want, just stay out of my face."

Both Ron and Draco flinched when the door upstairs slammed behind Harry.

"Is it just me or is he having a seriously misplaced bought of teenage angst?"

Draco slumped, "I'll talk to him."

"Don't bother, if he wants to act like a child-"

"Hey!" Draco snapped and instantly wished he could cover it back up because it was just too close to home, and the last thing Harry would want was for his business to be scattered all over the castle. "Sorry, look, just... he's dealing with a lot right now. It's not his fault."

Ron frowned, "You'd think he was the first guy to get chucked."

"What?"

"Isn't that what this is all about?"

Draco shook his head slowly, at a loss for what else to do, "Just… don't give up on him, okay? He needs his friends right now."

"He's got a funny way of showing it."

"Well..." Draco glanced hesitantly up the staircase, "I'll see what I can do about that."

* * *

Draco made it successfully through the dormitory door - that was something at least.

"Get the fuck out."

"I will." Draco glanced around the room. Harry prowled by the window, ready to strike. Finally Draco opted to just lean back against the door rather than risk taking a seat.

Harry glowered, "Just spout your latest pile of sap and leave."

"I'm not here to stoke up your ego Harry, I'm here to tell you to stop treating you friends like crap."

Harry crossed the room in two strides and came within inches of his face. "How I treat my friends is none of your damn business," he hissed.

"If you really want to win this war, you need them. All of them," Draco replied, holding his ground.

"And what about _you_?"

Draco had to fight hard not to let the ice sliding through him shake his resolve. "Point me where you want me," he said evenly, deliberately echoing himself from a conversation that seemed more like years than weeks ago.

Harry slammed his hand off the door beside Draco's head and latched the other around the back of his neck. He ground their lips together until he found in them what was lacking. For the barest moment it was soft and hungry, until Harry thumped the door again and ripped them apart.

"Damn it Draco!"

Draco steadied himself, stumbling somewhere between righteous anger and hope. "I'm not a toy," he said quietly.

Harry drew back and gave him space. He wrapped his arms around himself and cast his eyes down. "I know you're not."

Draco wanted to stay and melt into the murmured excuse for an apology - he was pretty sure he could make it enough - but instead he pulled himself up tall and turned away: out the door, down the stairs, straight past Ron and his questions.

Once in the corridor he started to run, he had no idea where to until he found himself crouched on the floor of some damp passageway he hadn't used since he was fifteen and probably up to no good. He smacked his head back against the wall and it was like flicking a switch; tears forced their way out in droves, he stifled the sound of the sobs with his fist.

* * *

Draco shouldn't have made the crack about the tea cosies, the universe had reacted violently. Probably it had some issue with knitting, or sheep, or maybe even tea itself.

It had started predictably enough: He and his team stood on the left flank of the battlefield and watched the flashes of red and green light off in the distance like proper little second rate soldiers, protecting the battle from enemy reinforcements that in all probability would come from the other side.

Draco blew into his hands and pulled his robes tighter around himself, trying not to think about the fact that his friends were out there and he was useless to them as a spectator. To make matters worse, every time he heard a cry ring out he pictured Harry or Ron or Remus crumpling under the weight of some gruesome curse. His father - in an effort to _prepare_ him - had made him study the worst spells dark magic could offer, right down to the expressions of their victims. It may have just been words and drawings but it was doing a damn good job of fuelling his imagination tonight.

He shook his tired muscles and absently began to sing in a soft whisper: _"_ _Si ton coeur bat aussi fort, que le tambour dans le lointain, c'est que l'espoir existe encore pour le genre humain_ _…"_

Seamus ogled him as if he'd lost his mind; Draco looked around at the rest of his team expectantly. "No culture," he huffed in the end and resumed his vigil of the battle.

An hour later it happened, just as the lights had started to die down and it looked like they'd come through it all victorious. The first clue had been an ear-splitting crack about ten meters into the tree line behind them. Eight wands snapped round to face it and eight men stood in absolute silence, waiting for another sign and hoping it was mere paranoia they were fighting.

Seconds became minutes. Draco was sure he'd seen a set of eyes gleaming in the darkness, but when he shot off a full-body-bind curse on reflex it whistled through the trees without finding a target. Instead the light from it taunted them with the briefest glimpse of all kinds of suspicious shadows.

Then another crack came, and another, and another, until Draco lost count of them and curses were flying everywhere. They managed to keep formation to begin with but then Creevey got drawn off into a hopeless battle with Nott. Draco screamed at them all to ' _Stay in fucking line!_ _'_ but it was no good. He set his mind to firing off as many curses as he could and shielding the others when he saw they were about to be blind-sighted.

The main battle joined up with theirs, Draco found himself in step with Ron and had never felt so relieved.

"Watch out Malfoy, I might start to think you're warm for me!"

Draco narrowly missed a slicing curse to the head, "I'd fuck you on the spot if it would save our necks!"

"How," Ron fired off a stream of spiders at MacNair, "Charming."

"Where's Harry?"

"Dunno, he was right behind me."

Draco didn't dare look back, it would probably be the death of him. He cast whatever came into his head, it didn't matter what so long as it was fast and painful. Luckily he knew a lot of those.

He saw her out of the corner of his eye: his mother, lit up amongst the fireworks. He lapsed for the smallest moment and in the next he was faced with the searing blue flash of an eviscerating curse. Before he could process it a shield appeared from his right.

He didn't have time to be shaken or to figure out where it had come from, instead he redoubled his casting and prayed to whatever gods were out there that they'd all see morning.

"Alright, Captain?" Seamus called over his shoulder.

"Fucking pay attention you big Irish twat!"

Seamus cackled and sent a curse at Greyback who knocked over another two Death Eaters when he fell. Greyback threw a bolt of red lightening back at him but Seamus deflected it easily and shot something just as nasty off in the other direction.

Draco didn't have the luxury of seeing it in slow motion, one minute his mother was alive and the next she was gaping at the stars.

Seamus was still casting but he cocked his head at Draco, silently asking if he was okay. Draco's wand arm lunged just as two hands gripped around it and apparated them away.

* * *

The fury sweating off Harry was palpable, "What the fuck was that!?"

Draco staggered a few paces to his right and latched onto a rickety old fence. Off in the distance he briefly saw the shrieking shack before his stomach began to convulse and empty itself onto the frosted grass.

"Well!?"

His mother was gone. His brain couldn't quite keep up with it, the thought just cycled around and around; his legs started to tremble.

Harry yanked him around by the shoulders.

"Get your head together!"

Draco was limp in his grasp, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

"They'll think you're a fucking spy you idiot!"

The words had no impact. Harry cast a spell to clean him up and warm his hands. He straightened out his robes and wiped his cheeks. Finally Draco blinked, breathed, and almost came back to himself.

"Are you prettying me up for Azkaban, Harry?" he asked without feeling.

"You won't be going there."

Draco felt like he already was.

"I don't understand you," Harry whispered, giving him a desperate sort of half-hearted shake.

"He killed my mother."

"He killed a Death Eater. That's his job. It's all of our jobs."

Draco shoved him away, "She was my _mother_!"

The ground swayed beneath him, he felt like he might throw up again.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and switched tactics. "Why did your father cast that shield charm around you?"

"What?"

Draco, dazed, took a few seconds to remember. " _He_ did that?"

"You didn't know?"

"Of course I fucking didn't know! There were curses flying everywhere, I was too busy trying to make it out alive!"

"It looks suspicious don't you think?"

Draco's jaw set and he planted his foot forward, "Are you accusing me of something?"

"No." Harry closed the gap between them as if to emphasise the point, "No. But you're in deep shit and hexing Seamus' face off wouldn't have done you any favours."

"It was a reflex," Draco growled, "He'd just killed my fucking MOTHER!"

"What did you think would happen if you met each other in battle? That she'd hand you a basket of muffins and ask you about your day? She was a fucking Death Eater!"

"Stop saying that!"

"It's true!"

"I don't fucking care!"

Harry exhaled sharply through his nose. "Why did Lucius stick his neck out for you? You said he hated you."

Draco wanted to make sense of that too but all sorts of other things were sliding about in his head.

He remembered the last conversation he'd had with his mother, she'd given him a journal of her cousin's and told him to join the Order of the Phoenix - quite plainly, like she might have been commenting on his haircut. They'd had a roaring argument about it. In the end though, he'd agreed, he'd wanted so badly to be able to look himself in the eye again.

He remembered the way his parents had always fought about his father's training of him. She had wanted to keep him away from all those horrific things, but he'd bullied her into submission, determined that his son be strong enough to rival him in their never-ending duels.

Something niggled at him then, another memory he couldn't quite surface.

He thought miserably about Carina, more specifically about how at least he'd gotten to say goodbye. There wasn't an ice-chip's chance in the Sahara he'd be able to attend his mother's funeral.

Funeral. _His father_ _'_ _s funeral._ The vision he'd had in the lake hit him with force, and his weeks of trying to decipher it seemed laughable now, because the answer was that oh-so-obvious one he'd stubbornly refused to lend any weight to.

It must have shown in his face because Harry asked, _'_ _What?_ _'_ and cocked his head to one side.

Draco ignored him. His whole childhood was unravelling like a rope that had been pulled too tight for too long.

"What!?" Harry tried with more insistence.

Draco shrugged him off. "You wouldn't understand," he said dismissively.

"Try me."

"We're family," tumbled out of Draco's mouth, and as soon it had…the duels and the brutal studying regime and the line had father had drawn between them long ago, they all clicked into place.

"And?"

Draco's eyes slipped out of focus, he could practically feel his grandfather's words bellowing through him: "Family matters, Harry. _Blood_ matters. There's nothing more important than blood."

Harry stared at him, "You sound like one of _them_."

"Oh please! Voldemort doesn't give a shit about family! If he did he wouldn't rip so many of them apart."

"What, so, your family's just a casualty of the war? No one ever - now let me think - killed, maimed, or tortured any innocent muggles… No one ever set a ruddy great basilisk loose in the school?"

"I'm not defending any of that. You asked why he protected me, I gave you your answer. I told you you wouldn't understand."

Harry's fingers tightened reflexively around his wand and his nostrils flared. "You're right Draco, I know bugger all about being a father, or a son."

"Oh fuck off, Harry! Not everything has to be about you."

Draco started off in the direction of the castle, Harry hurried to catch up but Draco spun to face him,."Unlike you, when I say _'_ _fuck off_ _'_ _,_ I mean _'_ _leave now before I hex your balls halfway up your throat_ _'_ _._ "

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Figure it out," Draco snarled, and left him there looking like he'd been smacked in the face with a brick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Aima D. Duragon.


	6. Chapter 6

Draco wrinkled his nose at the long-cold turkey leg sitting in its pool of congealed gravy. Though the uncomfortable shifting of his stomach made him pick it up, putting it near his mouth would be a brand new battle in itself. Thankfully, a timely knock at his door saved him before it came to all that.

Seamus Finnegan stood on the other side looking very much like a scolded child. Draco thought that had the man been wearing a cap he would have pulled it from his head in that moment and clutched it to his chest.

"I wanted to say I'm sorry about yir mam."

Draco frowned. He really didn't know what to do with that. He didn't have the energy to be angry any longer - being miserable had drained him of what little he'd had in the first place. Part of him was tempted just to close the door and go back to bed for the sixth time that day.

He wondered vaguely what had happened out there, beyond this room, to tip the world on its head. Because as far as he was aware, _he_ was the guilty party in all of this, not the awkward scrap of a man cluttering up his doorway.

He pursed his lips, "You were doing your job. It's fine."

It really fucking wasn't, but then apparently they both knew that.

"I know, but Harry, he-"

Draco's ears turned sharp, "What about him?"

"Nothing, nothing," Seamus soothed, "I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry. If it were my mam... I can't imagine... No matter who she was..."

"You," Draco jabbed his finger at him, "Have no idea who my mother was." Seamus glanced along the corridor, clearly considering his escape routes.

"I'm really very tired..." Draco said with a scratchy throat, which was about as close to gracious as he knew he was going to be able to get.

Seconds later, Seamus was gone and Draco retreated back to his pallid dinner plate, this time avoiding the turkey and making do with a limp piece of steamed carrot.

* * *

That night found Draco leaning out over the battlements of the astronomy tower letting the blood rush into his dangling fingertips. It felt as though at any moment his body might spontaneously take over from his mind and hurl itself over. He had to work hard not to fixate on that - something warned him that if he did then it might just happen. He really had no intention of jumping, he'd just felt the need to remind himself that he was still in control of his own life.

"Draco..." Remus said in a soft growl so as not to startle him.

"Mmmm?"

"Get off of there..."

Draco thought about refusing but he knew it would sound petulant. His mother would hate that.

He did as he was told, catching sight of the full moon as he clambered down. He managed to work up a small smile at that. "So it worked then?" he asked.

"Other than a few strange urges..."

Draco threw him a sideways look. "Such as..."

Remus smirked, "Well I can't seem to get rid of this lingering love of raw meat for one thing. I keep dreaming about sinking my teeth into a cow. A whole one."

"Urg, cheers for the imagery," Draco said, rubbing his stomach. He'd seen Greyback rip apart one too many chunks of bleeding flesh over his grandmother's wedding china.

"Sorry."

"Don't be. But... urges aside... you're good?"

Remus flexed a set of forearm muscles under the moonlight, admiring the lack of fur. "Oh yes," he declared with a grin.

"Well at least I've done _some_ good while I've been here."

Remus frowned, "You've done a lot."

"Doesn't feel like it."

"Well you have my gratitude. You shouldn't underestimate the others' either."

Draco gave a strange cynical sort of laugh. "You know, those were the last words she said to me."

"Your mother?"

Draco nodded, "Well, not quite. She said _'don't underestimate your father'._ Turns out he saved my life the other night, did you know that?"

"No..."

"I'm surprised it's not top of the gossip columns by now."

"Perhaps no one saw. It was chaos out there, you know that. Maybe no one was paying attention."

"Harry was."

"Yes," Remus folded his arms, "Well he has a vested interest, doesn't he?"

For the first time Draco felt a swell of shame that his actions had most likely landed Harry in a whole heap of shit. He'd put an unstable man out onto the battlefield - it didn't matter that it was a laughable assignment at the time, it had turned out to be crucial. And Harry knew him better than anyone, that's what they'd be saying, even if they didn't know why and even if they'd been at each other's throats for weeks. They'd say Harry should have known he wasn't fit for it, and he'd be having to justify himself to the whole stinking lot of them in turn,

"Don't take that on your shoulders, it's not how I meant it."

Draco curled his arms around himself and his fingers into his hips. "I just lost it..."

"You're human. Most of us can relate to that."

Draco shrugged.

"It's your mother's wake tonight isn't it?" Remus sighed, clasping a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah..."

"I thought maybe you'd want to go?" Remus held up a long shimmering cloak and a battered old piece of parchment.

"Harry's?"

Remus nodded.

Draco carefully took the cloak and the disguised map from Remus' outstretched hands, "How did you get them?"

Remus tried for a small smirk, "I stunned him and kidnapped his glasses."

Draco might have laughed if it hadn't made him feel nauseous.

"I asked," Remus amended.

"What, just like that? Didn't he want to know why?"

Remus gave him a wry smile, "I'm fairly certain he _knew_ why, I think he was happier to not have it confirmed though."

Draco shook his head, "I just don't get him sometimes."

"Why?" Remus cocked his head.

"He says one thing and then he does another. It's enough to make your head rattle."

"That's love for you."

Draco looked at him sharply, "It's not love, its guilt. I just hope it's the properly placed kind."

"Now you're the one not making any sense."

Draco decided against saying any more. "Thanks for this." He chewed his lip, "I owe you more than I have to give back right now."

"You've given me enough, remember?" he replied. "Come here," he said, and with only a little hesitation Draco slumped onto his chest, allowing himself to be wrapped up in Remus' weather-beaten robes for a while.

* * *

At the farthest edge of the proud Malfoy estate lay a patch of Devil's Snare so viciously consuming that no landscaping wizard had ever emerged from it alive.

Like all of the accepted curiosities of the estate, the snare had a story, and as a lonely, bored, little boy, Draco had hunted out all of these curiosities and the stories that went with them.

The snare had been cursed upon a once beautiful garden, one of gates and fountains and hidden places. In one such hidden place, a passage spiraled down into the ground, heading east towards the servants quarters beneath the castle. His great great great great... great aunt had played there with her mother as a young girl, it was their place away from the world. So when the mother had died, and the girl had grown, she still found comfort - something she had desperately little of in those times - on its quiet benches.

Her father was a stern figure, a leading politician of the era and cruel with his power; her brothers were little more than shadows of his will. He forbade his daughter from wasting her life away in the garden and sealed the gates with the most vicious magic he could muster. His ambitions struck far higher than the submission of his only daughter though: he also sought to enslave the elf population. He believed that their magic should be harnessed to the benefit of all wizardom.

She secretly rebelled - it was the only way she could stomach the life he'd imposed upon her. She used the servant's passages to visit her garden under cover of darkness, and over time organised a revolt of the many magical creatures of the time. Unfortunately, one of the servants - a plaything of her eldest brother - gave her away. On the night of an important summit meeting, her father broke the dark seals on the gates and alerted the Ministry of Magic, who sent a battalion of Aurors into the garden. All were killed, and in his rage at his daughter's betrayal he ordered the Snare be planted as a stark reminder to his other children - and future generations - of the price of disobedience.

What he didn't know was that beneath the strangling vines, the garden thrived on, lit and breathing by its own source of ancient magic.

Draco stood at the long forgotten back gate under Harry's cloak. This edge of the grounds wasn't warded, no one in recent times had ever managed to make them stick, and frankly it was seen as a redundant exercise. He creaked the gate open and felt warmth rush over him as he stepped inside. As a boy, he'd played in this garden hundreds of times, but as a man, he'd crossed it only once. That was the day he'd left it all behind.

The air smelled charred from the bonfire he knew would be burning elsewhere on the grounds, which only worsened the tightness in his chest. He crept through the garden, trying to remember the way. It almost seemed as though the plants and hedges were directing him, urging him on. He found the passage and settled in for a long trek. As he made his way, fires lit along the roughcast walls to guide him, and some forty-five minutes later he came to a heavy door, thick with cobwebs.

"Esse liberum," he said softly to it and it gave a lurch. He pushed it the rest of the way open with brute force.

Inside was a dusty, disused living space - it seemed that the house elves still avoided the old servant's quarters. On the wall hung an empty portrait frame and a map. The map depicted the whole estate, and much like Harry's map of Hogwarts, it displayed the locations of the manor's occupants. He stared at it for a long time, watching the Death Eaters crawling around it like ants. His father, he noted, was holed up in his study, so he supposed that was the place to be.

He climbed the servant's narrow spiral staircase up five flights and wandered the claustrophobic passageways, passing several wooden panels set half a meter up off the ground, until at long last he came to the one he wanted. He pushed it open as softly as he could muster and peered out into the corridor, he couldn't see any movement. He checked the cloak and tightened his grip on his wand. With a deep breath he stepped out and shut the panel door behind him as quickly as he could without causing it to slam.

A few footfalls further and he was standing right outside his father's door.

* * *

Lucius sat at the window, looking out at the pyre burning in the distance. He nursed a heavy-bottomed glass of what Draco assumed was firewhisky in his left hand and rested his head in his right.

"You shouldn't be here," he said without turning around.

Draco pulled off the cloak and ran the cut he'd made in his thumb along the inner doorframe. Safe in the knowledge that the only two people who could break the seal were he and his father, he dragged over another chair and helped himself to a swig of Dutch courage, straight from the crystal decanter that sat on the spindly table between them. It scorched its way down the back of his throat as he picked up his father's gaze and held it.

Lucius clicked his tongue and turned back to the window, Draco followed suit.

"Did you patch things up with Potter?"

Draco flinched in spite of himself, "What?"

"He seemed fairly irate when he hauled you off that battlefield."

Draco settled. He took a folded leaf of parchment from his inner robe pocket and tossed it unceremoniously into his father's lap, much like a self-important barn owl had done to him that very morning.

Lucius shot him a look that probably had something to do with his lack of manners and examined the letter.

_'_ _Draco Lucius Malfoy,_

_On the authority of the Minister for Magic, I write to inform you that in lieu of trial, and in your absence, a decision has been made regarding your recent attempt to willfully harm a soldier within your command, Mr Seamus Finnegan._

_You are hereby decommissioned from active duty, effective immediately._

_This decision is final and not open to appeal or amendment._

_Regards,_

_Harry James Potter_ _'_

Lucius pursed his lips and handed it back.

"What about you? Did anyone see you cast that shield?"

"Yaxley."

"And?"

"I killed him."

Draco's blood soured at the complete lack of hesitation in his father's voice.

Lucius narrowed his eyes, "Don't be a child, Draco. I did what I had to."

Draco snatched up the firewhisky and took another long swig. He closed his eyes for a moment and reminded himself that _of course_ his father was still a ruthless bastard; Just because he'd stumbled upon another layer to the man, that didn't mean anything had changed, not really. He returned his focus to the burning embers of his mother out in the grounds.

"She loved you dearly," Lucius murmured into his empty glass. For a moment it looked like he might try to prize the bottle out of Draco's hands but he decided against it.

"I know," Draco replied somberly. "Apparently you do too," he added with another swig.

Lucius frowned, "Be careful with that, you'll never make it back out of here if you're intoxicated."

Draco ignored him for a while but eventually set the bottle back down.

"How _did_ you get in here?"

"That would be telling."

Lucius sat back, "Good. I'll just have to alert these parasites to a security breach then."

"Wait 'till I'm gone will you."

Lucius rolled his gaze over as if to say 'obviously' and Draco almost laughed – almost. Something was happening to him though. As he sat unguarded in his father's study - safe, and somehow as an equal - giddy euphoria gripped onto his arms and shook him hard; He felt awake for the first time in weeks.

Lucius took no notice, "Given the amount of wards and sentries, if they haven't found it before now I doubt they ever will… With any luck they'll decide the place unfit and get the fuck out of my house once and for all."

" _Language,_ father."

"You've grown rather impertinent these days. You wouldn't have dared speak to me like that when you were a boy."

"When I was a boy I was afraid of you," Draco told him baldly.

Lucius rubbed at his temple with his thumb. "You could have led the Aurors in here any time…" he fished.

"I wouldn't have done that to mum."

"And me?"

Draco sized him up, "Not now."

Lucius shook his head, "You're a sentimental fool."

Draco tossed his head back and let out a bark of laughter, forgetting himself completely.

"You get that from her," Lucius said, yanking him straight back into the heart of it all.

Draco slumped down and considered taking the bottle up again. He reached for it on reflex but stopped himself short of it. "Yeah, I guess I do," he agreed. "I should probably get going."

"Yes," Lucius nodded slowly, watching him gather his things and make for the door with heavy shoulders. "Did you get what you came for?"

Draco paused and rasped out: "I'm not sure."

"Avalon is a trap," Lucius told him plainly.

"We don't have any pl-"

"You will soon enough. Don't go."

Draco bit his cheek, "I'm decommissioned, remember?"

"Things change. You'll promise me this, it's not a request."

"Alright, Dad."

Lucius shuddered, "Don't call me that, it's abhorrently common."

Silence met him, and Lucius glanced round to find his son gone, the door closed, and the blood cleaned from its frame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Aima D. Duragon.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ack! Sorry for the delay, it's been a crazy week!

Harry's forehead rested on the heels of his hands; he looked up when the door opened and watched it click softly home, there was nothing else to see.

"Harry?" Draco asked as he pulled off the cloak hiding him from view.

He was perched on the edge of Draco's desk chair, hunched in on himself, and Draco sorely hated the picture he made.

"I know I shouldn't be here," Harry murmured.

Draco turned his back and took a seat on the bed, as far away from Harry as possible.

"How are you?"

Draco's skin prickled, "That's a pretty loaded question."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean... I don't know what I meant."

"It's fine."

Harry looked over at him which made things easier and harder all at once. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No," Draco said, a little too quickly for his own liking, and probably Harry's.

Silence rolled back and forth vaguely between them, like a leech drawing out their worst thoughts and feeding on them.

Harry saw Draco's back pulled taut, his shoulders shaking, and he felt shredded. He found himself all at once in the space in front of Draco's feet. For a moment he swayed there and then his knees crunched into the ground. He didn't dare raise his eyes or reach out, instead he just dismantled himself on the floor.

"Stop it," Draco bit out.

Harry shook his head, tears making fat, wet spots on his jeans.

Draco's fingers found their way into Harry's hair and pulled him forward. He sought out Harry's lips, let them go, and found them again, over and over until Harry made a strangled sound and tried to slither away.

Draco strengthened his grip and Harry pushed him back.

"I shouldn't have-"

Draco narrowed his eyes on Harry's collar, intent on getting it away from his neck, "Stop talking, Harry."

"I shouldn't have blamed you."

Draco silenced him with more lips and teeth until some higher part of his brain began to ask questions, "Blamed me for what?"

"For her," Harry whispered. "For taking her. It was my fault, I killed her, I had no right to her."

Draco stalled. The first words to enter his head were jumbled strings of frustration and abuse and he gulped them down before they could do their damage.

"Shhhhhh," he said, and loosened the knot his fingers had in Harry's shirt. "It's okay."

"It's not."

Draco nudged Harry's head around and kissed him again, slowly and purposefully. His hands went to work removing their clothes and maneuvered Harry to lie alongside him. He trailed kisses around the curve of Harry's shoulder and down his chest. All the while, Harry's heart thundered beneath his lips and his hands alternated between shaking and clutching at Draco's skin.

Draco frowned, "You're not okay with this, are you?"

Harry bit his lips together and rolled his fingers up into fists, but couldn't bring himself to speak.

"You're scared it'll happen again."

Draco carefully watched for the flicker of confirmation as it passed across Harry's face. He moved up to rest their foreheads together and pulled the blankets over them. He wound one arm around Harry's back and brought the other up to his face, stroking his cheek with the backs of his fingers, "It wasn't your fault. You didn't know. You'd have stopped training if you had."

"Would I?" Harry's voice shook.

"Well," Draco paused, making a show of considering the facts as he knew them, "you're an egotistical, work-obsessed arse with a martyr complex, but you're not a monster.

Harry twisted his face in disgust at some part of that statement.

"I know you well enough to know I'm right," Draco pressed.

"No, you don't," Harry threw back at him. "I've treated you like shit."

Draco tapped his fingertips lightly over Harry's face, partly to memorize it and partly because he didn't know if he'd ever get so close again.

"I'm sorry I gave you a hard time about your mother."

And suddenly it wasn't a distraction anymore, this thing with the touching and the smell of Harry's skin. And it wasn't them cleaning out a shared wound that had been allowed to fester. Now it was just Harry trampling where he didn't belong.

Draco tensed. "Good," he coughed out.

"I-"

Draco sat up sharply, planting his feet onto the cold flagstones. Harrys words were drowned out by the protests of various offended mattress springs.

"You should go."

Harry's head buzzed, all at once he felt used and bewildered. "I'm trying to fix this here. Look, I know I fucked up, but-"

"You didn't kill her, alright. You didn't _know_ her. So you don't get to talk to me about her, okay? Just- you need to go now."

Harry pulled himself upright and wrapped the sheets tightly around his shoulders.

"I don't want to."

Draco swung a glare at him out of the corner of his eye and regretted it immediately.

He deflated - just slightly - and Harry crept over a few inches, still holding the sheets around him like armour.

"I can't function like this anymore."

Draco wondered cynically if the words had actually fallen out of his own mouth rather than Harry's.

"Without you, I can't look myself in the eye," Harry continued. "When I do I hate what I see. You're the only thing that makes it better."

The air around them changed then, and it took Harry a moment to realise that it wasn't in his favour.

"I'm going to say this very plainly to you, Harry, try to follow if you can:" Draco pulled in a deep breath and stilled himself. "I am not some… convenient… _sticking charm_ that you can use to hold yourself together _just long enough_ to throw your life away in some idiotic battle to the death with Voldemort. I have my own problems to deal with too, you selfish, pig-headed, ignorant, son-of-a-bitch."

Harry jumped back as though he'd been struck in the face. He wobbled to his feet, finally discarding the sheet, standing naked in the middle of the room without even really realising how exposed it made him. He dressed in silence, concentrating on his balance more than anything.

"Wait." Draco said when he reached for the door, and Harry did. "There's going to be a battle at Avalon. We'll get intelligence about it soon."

"Yeah?" Harry asked instead of the obvious question, because he could already guess where the information had come from.

"It's a trap," Draco told him. He almost added, _'_ _don_ _'_ _t fall for it_ _'_ _,_ but that would mean extracting a promise from Harry that he wasn't likely to keep.

Harry, for his part, heard the unspoken words anyway, and had already decided he might have to ignore them.

"Thank you," he said, and left.

* * *

Less than a week later, Remus shook the sleep out of him in the dead of night, and yes, Harry – predictably, Draco growled to himself – _had_ decided to walk into that trap.

With weary bones Draco followed Remus to the entrance hall.

Harry sensed Draco's presence before he even deigned to turn his head. Draco could tell by the way he tensed and set his jaw.

"What part of _'_ _it_ _'_ _s a trap_ _'_ was difficult for you to understand?"

Harry's nostrils flared hot, a hundred pre-prepared defenses leaping to the tip of his tongue.

"Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said as he stepped out of the shadows; Draco almost flinched. "As a decommissioned officer you have no business interfering in this decision."

The way the old man peered over his glasses with his stately 'you-brought-this-on-yourself-dear-boy' continence made Draco want to jab him in the eye with the blunt end of his wand.

Instead he turned back to Harry: "I'd have thought it would bother you more. I mean, _him_ ," he indicated Dumbledore, "Fair enough. But you? I'd have thought better of you."

"What are you rambling on about now!?" Harry snapped at him.

"Well you're leading these men to their deaths aren't you?"

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again; redness marched up his throat onto his face, and he quailed at the accusation.

"The risk is ours to take," George intervened for him.

"Yeah, especially if we can bring down that bastard," Seamus agreed, to the murmured approval of the other order members present.

Draco eyed them with obvious pity but none of them seemed deterred.

"Perhaps if you could explain _why_ you believe it to be a trap Draco?" Arthur tried gently.

For a brief moment both Harry and Draco saw fear flit across each other's faces.

"The information is solid," Harry jumped in, and, re-establishing his confidence added, "Look, anyone who doesn't understand how dangerous this mission is – and by that I mean how likely it is that we're walking into a shit-storm of Voldemort's own making – can duck out now, no grudges."

Each of the assembled order members made some gesture or another to demonstrate their determination to see the mission through – a clenched fist, a foot planted staunchly forward, that type of thing.

Draco pressed his lips together, praying for patience.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because it's my duty."

"Oh fuck your duty and fuck you. If you gave a shit about your duty you'd stop and think about this for longer than it takes you to lace up your fucking boots!"

Harry stepped closer and jabbed a finger in Draco's face, "I don't take orders from crazed lieutenants who try to off their own men."

"And they shouldn't take orders from a frightened little boy with a death wish but they will anyway, won't they?" Draco spat back.

"That's enough!"

"Shut up, Albus!" Harry snapped at him.

Remus and the other order members unconsciously shrank away from the whole scene, not quite able to believe it was unfolding in the way it was.

Harry squared his shoulders, held his head up, and did his best to look tall; Draco didn't need legilimency to see straight through it.

"Harry," Shacklebolt prodded, "We're going to lose cover of darkness if we don't move out now."

"Right."

Remus blocked his path to leave.

"What? You're still going? Haven't you listened to a word?"

"I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? That's all you have to say to me?"

"Leave it, Remus," Draco told him.

Harry's eyes darted over to his, and something like, _'_ _Thank you, for understanding_ _'_ started to form in them.

"He's a coward."

A low growl escaped Harry's throat. "What did you just call me?"

"I called you a coward. It's what you are after all." Draco told him plainly.

"I'm about to risk my life to save the world from a snake wielding psychopath! We all are!"

"Oh I don't doubt the bravery of your band of merry men, they're very well intentioned I'm sure. But _you,_ Harry? You're not being brave, you're running away."

"If I wanted to run away I'd be on a beach somewhere with a pitcher of sangria."

"No you wouldn't."

Harry managed to scoff. "You don't know me as well as you think you do."

"It won't stop until you're dead."

Harry froze.

"The way you hate, the things you feel. You can't run away from these things on a beach or drown them in alcohol, they won't stop until you do."

Harry could feel every eye in the room dissecting him, analysing every interaction he'd ever had with each of them. He felt like Draco had opened him up and was now giving a detailed lecture on the state of his internal organs.

"Shut your mouth."

"You think I don't see you? I see," Draco jabbed at his own chest, and then directed an accusatory finger at their shamefaced audience, "I see what none of them want to."

"You see bugger-all."

"Is that why you look about ready to hex my face off? Because I'm _not_ hitting a nerve?"

The taunting took Harry's head back to a time when the most important thing was besting Draco in their latest sparing match, back when he was a verbal punching bag, a form of entertainment even – back before everything had stacked up on Harry's shoulders.

"I have responsibilities - I wouldn't expect a selfish, silver-spooned brat like you to understand."

Draco almost smiled, and he said softly, "I meant what I said."

"Which part?"

"All of it."

Harry cast his face down and let his hair fall over it.

Shacklebolt touched his shoulder and indicated the open doorway.

"Can you give us a minute?" Harry all but pleaded, without looking at any of them.

"I'm sorry but no."

Harry nodded. His eyes steeled over, his teeth lined up in twos, and his ears tuned themselves out.

"I have to go," he said robotically.

"Yeah," Draco nodded. "Me too." And he turned and walked away, back down the corridor, hoping that neither Harry nor their onlookers had seen the wobble in his step.

Shacklebolt tried to turn Harry away but Harry struggled, indignant, and tore himself free.

"Hey! Don't fucking walk away from me!"

Draco didn't slow down.

"I said STOP you arse! Come back here, I'm not done with you!"

"Well I'm done with you!" Draco whirled around, unable to help himself.

"You knew what this was!"

"And I didn't like it in the fucking first place so I don't know why you're so confused about it now! In what world is _'_ _Hey Draco, gonna wander off and get myself executed_ _now_ ' an acceptable way to end a relationship?"

"WE'RE NOT IN A FUCKING RELATIONSHIP!"

"WELL WHOSE BLOODY FAULT IS THAT!?"

They stared each other down, heads and fists forward.

"That's cheap."

"Harry…"

"Don't pretend I'm the only thing in the way of us—it's bollocks and you know it. We both know you hate me, and we both know you have good reason to, so don't make this harder than it already has to be."

"I don't hate you."

"Well you fucking should!"

Draco made to interrupt but Harry talked right over him: " _'_ _Blood matters, there_ _'_ _s nothing more important than blood_ _'_ , well she was your blood and I KILLED HER!"

The order members still clustered in the entrance hall could hear every word - a product of the empty stonework halls - and they wondered if somehow Harry had been responsible for Draco's mother's death, if Seamus had simply - mistakenly - taken the blame for it somehow. They turned to Seamus for confirmation but he just shrugged, as bewildered as the rest of them.

Harry's next whisper seemed to reverberate off the walls just as loudly as the roar that preceded them causing the castle itself to choke on a collective breath.

"I killed our daughter. Don't try to pretend that doesn't matter to you."

Draco reached forward, grabbed the front of Harry's shirt, and rattled it. "It _does_ matter," he hissed, "It _does_. But you matter to me too, and it hurts me - _this -_ hurts me. And if I matter to you too then you need to _stop_ hurting me. Either stay with me or let me walk away, I mean it."

Harry pulled Draco against him and pressed their foreheads together. "Marry me."

"What?"

"Marry me and I'll come back from this, I promise I will."

"Let me go."

Harry gripped him tighter.

"I said LET ME GO!"

Harry's heart swelled up to the size of a quaffle, like in saying those two words he'd broken apart the wall he'd put up between them, and as soon as he'd done that a whole host of realisations started to fire off in his head. "You wouldn't. You'd fight for me," he said with confidence. "Unless I put me foot in it like I did yesterday… but even then you'd still come here and you'd still be trying to fight for me, and even if you couldn't take it anymore and you started to walk away, you'd still stop and listen…"

Harry paused and listened to his own words. "…And I've taken advantage of that. But I promise-"

"If you really meant those words you wouldn't go at all."

"I _have_ to go. What kind of life would we have - would any of us have - with Voldemort behind every corner trying to rip it down? You said you wanted our world to shine again, you said you wanted to help make that happen. I know I've taken everything for granted, but give me a reason to come back from this battle and I'll spend the rest of my life being the one who waits on you and fights for you, okay? Just-"

"Yes."

Harry blanched, barely able to move his lips when Draco kissed them. He came-to with a shudder when he felt Draco's words against the soft shell of his ear, "This is the last time you manipulate me, Potter. And you'd better fucking come back from this battle in one piece or so help me I will find your neck and throttle it."

Harry wrapped his arms around Draco's head and murmured into the top of it: "I love you, you prick."

"We'll see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Aima D. Duragon.


	8. Chapter 8

Draco didn't watch Harry leave.

What he _did_ do was stagger slightly into the nearest alcove, wait for the thunder of departing footsteps to die down, and throw up.

Remus pressed his lips together into a thin line and reached out to pull Draco's hair away from the risk of getting tangled up his vomit. And when eventually he stopped and steadied himself, Remus followed him down into an antechamber that smelled of black mold and cobwebs. There were stacks of boxes piled right up to the low ceiling, giving the impression that they were holding it up. Draco considered one such stack critically, tracing his eye top-to-bottom and back again. Then, before Remus could stop him, he plowed into the middle of the column and sent half a dozen boxes crashing to the floor.

The sound it made was violent. It wrenched something forward in Draco that he wanted to follow; it beat on his chest and screamed in his ears. He reached down to gather up some of the items that had been displaced from the fallen boxes and started to throw them indiscriminately, relishing the force with which they shattered off the walls.

The rage in the room was palpable, it cut into the air around them and needled its way under Remus' skin to where the shadow of the monster lived. Remus could feel it stirring up his blood and sharpening his teeth.

Draco continued to break things but he _said_ nothing, because he'd made his bed, and he fucking _knew_ that, and he'd fucking _lie in it_ , alright? But shitting hell it hurt!

Remus tried to intervene but Draco didn't even register his efforts, not at first. Eventually, he got in the way often enough to become a target himself - he could see that from the way Draco's shoulders started to square towards him. Before he could strike, Remus grabbed hold of those shoulders and shook them. In that moment, like something of a phantom limb, he could feel the wolf break away from him, crack its neck to one side, and rip into Draco's throat. It wasn't real, but was unsettling, and Draco seemed to sense it because he finally stopped struggling.

They fell quiet, each acting to stabilize the other.

After the longest time Remus finally broke the tension, "The house-elves have some particularly strong mead stashed away if you're interested?"

Draco almost smiled as he allowed himself to be led in the direction of the kitchens.

* * *

A little over an hour later found Draco and Remus perched on two rickety stools, with a half-drunk demijohn of mead and a couple of copper tankards set on the counter between them.

"When I was younger," Draco said, "A lot of the things in my life had been decided for me. The man I was supposed to become, the job I was supposed to have… But I threw all that to the wind when I came here. Or at least I thought I did."

"Thought?"

"Yeah, I mean, I guess I didn't let go of all of it. Like, I always thought that when I was older, and I had a family - See, there's another thing, family. I guess that's stuck with me too…"

Remus held a shallow breath, wondering if Draco would discuss the revelations that Harry had made before he and the others had left, which he'd strictly avoided so far.

"You've been through a lot," he tried.

Draco bore a hole into a small section of the counter with his gaze. "Can we not?"

Remus clasped him on the shoulder and squeezed an affirmation.

"Where was I?"

"When you were older…"

"Right, when I was older," Draco continued, finding his stride again, "I always thought I'd be this tall, commanding, head-of-the-family type."

"Like your father?"

"I guess," Draco shrugged, "I was planning to be less of a sociopath though."

"Good to hear," Remus nodded.

"And I think I still wanted that, even now. But Harry, he fucks with my head, you know? He leads, and I follow, and I want to follow, but… I don't. That's not the guy I'm supposed to be - some whiny, swooning school girl that gets walked all over? Nu-uh, no way."

Remus swilled his tankard and threw the rest of its contents to the back of his throat, lips curling into a watery smile.

"What?" Draco asked, disconcerted.

"I remember that," he said, and when Draco continued to look bewildered, he added, "Being in love."

For a moment Draco let that thought swell up inside him and radiate outwards, but then the warmth wore off and left him feeling the true devastation of what was left behind.

"Why did he go?" he asked in a small, thin voice that made Remus feel like it was his turn to throw up. Instead he pulled Draco into a sidelong hug, nearly tipping his stool in the process. As he gripped onto the younger man, he could practically feel the wolf pacing around them, protecting them. It was such a strange notion to him that it made him shiver.

"You okay?"

Remus sighed, "It's nothing."

Draco raised an eyebrow at him until he made a resigned gesture and elaborated. "I was always terrified of being a father," he confessed. "I figured there was a pretty good chance they'd be cursed, like me."

"But now?" Draco asked with a barely concealed tone of hope.

"I don't know," Remus said truthfully. "I'm not a werewolf anymore, but… there's something. Like an echo? I had this thing living in me for so long, sometimes it feels like it's still there. Like I still have its instincts?"

Draco thought about that, and about the glint he'd seen in Remus' eye earlier; he couldn't suppress the shudder that followed.

Remus had clearly followed his train of thought, "Sorry about that," he offered.

"For a second there you kinda looked like you wanted to end me," Draco said sheepishly, studying his hands.

"It wasn't-" Remus shook his head and tutted at himself before continuing, "Yeah," he admitted. "But I'm starting to think that maybe not all of those instincts are necessarily bad. I mean, now that I don't have to be afraid of them all the time."

Draco screwed one side of his mouth into a hesitant half-smile, "Um, I don't really know how to take that?"

"I didn't mean it the way it sounded."

Draco nodded and sipped his mead without further comment.

"Look," Remus began again, "Generally speaking, those instincts would have me keep you from harm. And maybe I never got to be somebody's dad, not yet anyway, but…"

Draco's face brightened, "Are you saying that I'm like your honorary wolf cub?"

"No."

Draco eyed him with comic suspicion. "Is it because I'm not hairy enough? Because I could _get_ hairy."

"Uh-"

"I mean, I don't really have the genes for it, but I'm sure I could probably find-"

"Draco-"

"And sort of stick it-"

"Draco-"

" _Would_ need some sort of adhesive-"

"DRACO!"

Draco waved him off with a snigger and a small, mead-induced hiccup.

"No, _listen_."

Sure enough, just then a clatter sounded several floors above them. Draco felt the blood and alcohol drain from his face simultaneously as someone let out a toe-curling scream.

"Shit…" he breathed, and in the next second he was halfway up the stairs leading out of the antechamber. The second after that he was streaming down the corridor, and then another, and another, racing up several more flights of stairs along the way, only just cognisant of Remus' presence a few feet behind him.

When finally he arrived in chaos, his head was clear, and the world seemed to slow down around him. He started out by throwing up a shield to protect two tiny first year boys from being hit by a particularly vicious blasting hex, just as the ceiling above him started to cave in.

There were people running everywhere, but no one seemed to know where to. Groups of students either huddled or banded together, with the latter kind fighting back-to-back, throwing off whatever hexes they could remember from their battle-defense classes. Death Eaters and werewolves seemed to be crawling out of the woodwork of the castle, snapping and biting at whatever they came across.

Draco eyed a nearby alcove. It was deep and empty save for a small smattering of rubble. He set about maneuvering the different groups of students towards it, providing cover and positioning the more frightened looking kids behind the ones that had some idea of what they were doing.

"Remus," he called out, fighting to see through the dust, "We need to get them out. The passageways, the one-eyed witch in the-"

He was cut off by a tremendous crash which turned out to be part of the battlement that ran alongside the outer wall falling away. Hexes were still flying and they shot back as often as they could while trying to keep their bearings and assess the situation.

"Maybe that's how they got in?"

Draco shook his head, "They'd assume we had the entrances of all the known ones watched, which we do, they must have found another way."

"All the same, they could have guards sitting down in Hogsmeade watching the exits," pointed out Remus.

Draco let out a snarl of frustration. A slicing hex made it's way straight for his chest and he careened out of its path into a portrait. The painted woman cowered in the farthest corner of her painted room, part of which had already been burned away.

An idea came to him then.

"Hey-"

"Leave me be!" she shrieked at him.

"I can't. I need you to tell me, are there any forgotten passageways in this castle? Ones that nobody uses anymore?"

The portrait shook her head.

"What about the walls? Are there servant-ways in the walls?"

"The elves don't need them-"

"From before the godforsaken elves you-"

"Stop screaming at me!"

Draco sucked in a deep breath. "I'm sorry, I'm sure you can understand why I'm short on time here?" As if to accentuate his point, a blue flare of light whipped around him from Remus' wand just as three different coloured hexes collided with it. "Fucking _shitting_ hell," he rasped, starkly reminded of his father doing that for him seconds before his mother had died.

"The walls are too thick, there wasn't room for servant-ways."

"Then how!?"

"I'm thinking, I'm thinking!" The portrait shrieked. "The walls themselves," she said after a long moment. "If you walked into the wall through a portrait with a bronze frame…" she said methodically, as if reading the words directly from her memory, "Then the frame would make you transparent, or trans-something. And then you could walk about in the walls themselves, and re-emerge through another bronze frame where you needed to."

Draco's heart jumped, "And that would make you normal again?"

"Well, what is 'normal' really?" asked the portrait with a pair of air quotes.

Draco ignored her, "The portrait in the boathouse has a bronze frame, doesn't it?"

"What, _that_ old hag?" she started, before seeing the maniacal gleam in Draco's eye. "Yes, yes she does."

"Password?"

"Yes, there was definitely one of those."

Draco ground his teeth together. "And what was it?"

"I don't know, what are you asking me for!?"

"Do we need it?"

"I don't understand."

Draco threw a shield around a group of girls that had just rounded the corner and narrowly avoided being eviscerated. He snarled again, "That's because you're a bleeding halfwit!"

"I'm sorry, okay!"

"Will your fellow portraits open without the password?"

"If the headmaster-"

"THE HEADMASTER ISN'T BLOODY HERE!" Draco yelled, startling everyone around him. "Look," he quickly read off the nameplate below the portrait, "Lucy. I need you to go to them and do some convincing."

"What, all of them?"

"Yes, all of them. Tell them only to open for those on the light-side, and to direct people to the frame in the boathouse. I'm going there now and I'll figure out our next move when I get there. Convince some helpers along the way, split up, it'll be quicker. I believe in you Lucy, you can do this. Tell them, if they do this for me, I will make sure they are all restored as a matter of priority when we reclaim the castle, okay?"

"Right," Lucy said, pulling herself up straight and dusting herself off before marching confidently out of her frame.

Draco was already looking for the closest bronze frame. When he located it, the elderly chap it housed simply doffed his hat and said: "Come on through lad."

"Never have I been more grateful for the eavesdropping tendencies of portraits," he muttered to himself as he climbed inside, beckoning the others to follow.

"Happy to help," the portrait replied.

Remus was herding the last of their protectorate towards him when Draco spotted a girl lying under a pile of rocks and dismantled armor. She groaned and moved her head from one side to the other. Draco judged the distance between the portrait, the girl, and the few Death Eaters left standing; he decided he could make it.

When he reached her he began to frantically levitate debris off of her small frame. He cast a look in the direction of the others to reassure them that he wouldn't be long, but just as he turned his head, he saw a streak of green light slam right into Remus' back.

* * *

The rest of their escape went by in a haze, most of which Draco couldn't remember.

They told him that he'd gotten the girl to safety with the others, and that he'd led them down through the walls to the boathouse, like he'd planned to. They told him that he'd spoken with the mermen there to secure safe passage through the lake itself, so as not to be seen by any on-looking Death Eaters. Apparently he'd marched them all into the water, checking bubble head charms and casting them for those who weren't able. Hundreds had followed his initial group, from all corners of the castle, and he'd herded them out just the same.

They told him he was a war hero, and they'd pinned a medal on his chest.

In Hogsmeade, the escaped students and teachers had reconvened with what was left of the Order's forces following their near-catastrophic battle at Avalon. Raiding parties were put together to retake the castle, and armed with the knowledge about the walls, they pulled it off without any further casualties. A grey-faced Ron approached him and told him that Harry had been killed taking down Voldemort. All around them people started to glow with real hope for the future, but Draco hadn't the energy for hope. He looked away from Ron's concerned eyes and sat down in the middle of the street. Later, darkness came, and he somehow ended up in a lodgers room above the Hogshead Pub, where he stayed until, a few days later, he was jostled back to the castle by a collective of do-gooding Weasleys.

When it was time to put Remus to rest, his hands shook by his sides. Faceless people clasped his shoulders and wished their condolences, but he couldn't stomach them.

Neither could he bring himself to watch when it was Harry's turn. He sat up high on the sill of a tower window and listened to the mournful strings of music that drifted up to him.

He had this notion that he should feel like he'd been ripped open, but he didn't. Most of the time he felt nothing, and when there _was_ something, it was an all-consuming anger that would boil up without warning, making his head feel like it was on fire.

Eventually, his father came, and deposited him down in front of this hideous marble monolith that he knew at once had to be Harry's. He sat there in the leaves in front of it for a long time, refusing to look it in the eye.

"Father," he said, "Can we just go home?"

But his father had left him there, alone.

Draco picked at the moss that had already started to grow around the foot of the monument.

"You'd fucking hate this if you saw it," Draco said with a sneer in his voice.

Silence replied.

"Well good, it's the least you deserve," he spat.

More silence, and a few fat teardrops hitting the already damp ground.

"Is this supposed to make me better?" he asked aloud.

"That word makes no sense to me anymore. Better? It seems foreign and wrong. They persistently ask me that though. Better? And squint at my three heads in confusion when I ask what it means."

Draco curled his arms around his knees to fend off the cold seeping down into his bones.

"I'm so far from comprehension right now, Harry. So far from ever being anything other than just… gone. In my mind, I'm not really here. I'm not sitting in this awful place holding a one-sided conversation with a man so fucking idiotic that he's put himself in the ground long before his time.

"Is it wrong to hope, to believe even, that one day you'll be with me again? Would you think I was the idiot then? Would you have me move on? Find some nice little blond pureblood? Have lots of obedient little blond children, and top it off with a ridiculous amount of gold in the bank?" Draco asked, even though every question that went unanswered felt like a knife in his chest.

"It would restore the natural order I'm sure, But that doesn't mean it's going to happen, Harry. Harry... How can a name cause so much pain? I feel like laughing and crying and screaming all at once. I feel like I'm going mad. And I hate you, do you know that? Can you understand?"

Draco let out a cruel laugh, "Of course you don't. A selfish, self-centred bastard like you could never understand the hell he puts people through. But you made me a promise, alright? You made me a _fucking_ promise to come back from that godforsaken battle and you damn well better make good on it, alright? I want what I'm owed Potter, and that's you, and our life, and…"

Draco's throat closed over and he found he couldn't continue his rant, nor did he want to.

"Please come back," he begged with strained vocal cords. He rolled to lie on the ground, the side of his face and one palm flat against it. "Please…"

Lucius returned an hour later, scooped up his son in his arms, and took him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the lovely BlueRubyBeat


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay - against my saner judgement, I'm posting this chapter before I have the next one back from my Beta. 
> 
> This is very scary for me, I like to keep one chapter ahead so I have a little control over time between updates. i.e. if chapter 11 takes a little longer than I'd like then at least chapter 10 is there to act as a buffer if I need more time to get caught up with myself. 
> 
> Chapter 10 is not here, so I'm not going to have that safety net, but I wanted to put you all out of your misery as early as I could.
> 
> Happy reading!!

Harry woke up in a burnt-out bus shelter to the acrid stench of burning plastic and the scream of distant sirens. He stretched his brittle fingers out into the world and squinted across the horizon; if he concentrated his effort in sharp bursts he was able to pick out looming grey buildings and supermarket carrier bags moving like tumble-weed in the spaces between.

Something howled nearby and he strained to get a look; A bundle of rags squirmed six feet from his head. Harry crawled his way to it, pulled at the dirty cloth and recoiled at what he saw: Voldemort, or something that represented some meagre part of him – an emaciated creature with the limbs of a child and the face of an old man. A Horcrux, he realised belatedly. He let himself drop, eyes rolling back in his head. That explained _a lot_.

He lay for a long time trying to piece together a plan of action, but it was difficult to concentrate when it felt like some malicious force was driving spikes into his skull.

He had a pretty good idea where he was. He remembered the moment he'd died quite clearly: the battle raging around him, Voldemort crumbling even as he fell, and Draco in his blood, his skin, his brain. Even as it stuttered out of life it flooded with memories of their time together, and Harry's last living thought was that it hadn't been enough.

After gathering enough of his strength he finally felt able to pull himself up. He braced himself on the shelter's metal frame and hacked out a clump of phlegm from somewhere in his right lung. It landed on the pavement with a disgusting smack. He saw that he stood in a dilapidated housing estate. High-rise blocks of flats towered far into the sky surrounded by lower, longer blocks dressed in discoloured pebble-dash. Broken satellite dishes and TV aerial spines jutted out from their surfaces like haphazardly deployed armour.

There was an uneasy sense about the place, like there might be things scheming in the hidden places all around him. It dug into him. He jerked his gaze from point to point and his body around in circles trying to sate it. Voldemort's piercing wail grew more insistent. He needed to be _away_ from it but as he started to stagger down the street his dread grew louder too, on and on in his head like a buzz saw. He turned back to stare at the Horcrux, imagining all the worst things that could happen if it fell into the wrong hands.

He faltered, paused to scorn the Universe's brutal sense of humour, and made his way back. As soon as he picked the thing up it fell silent, clinging on like a starved animal. Harry's stomach turned over at the thought that it must have been leaching onto him for most of his life.

He sighed, headache subsiding now that he had peace to think.

"Right then," he murmured to himself. "Onwards."

* * *

Lucius tapped a knuckle against the frame of Draco's door.

"It's time," he said softly.

Draco gazed out at the grounds of the manor, letting his head fall against the window glass with a sigh.

"I'm not interested."

Lucius made a hesitant step into the room, "These officials have been fairly persistent in trying to secure your attendance, Draco."

"Are you ordering me to go?" Draco snapped, challenge blazing in his eyes.

"No. And neither am I in the position to, as you well know."

Bitter satisfaction settled down over Draco at these words. Yeah, he knew.

"But," Lucius started again, "I think this is something you need to do."

Draco stared his father, trying to decide if the man was a masochist or just bat-shit crazy.

"I think," Lucius said carefully, "That he meant more to you than you're willing to share with me. And that's your prerogative, of course it is, son, but if you close yourself off like this…"

 _'Son'._ He used that word often now, like it meant something. Like he wanted Draco to believe it was worth more to him than a convenient meal ticket out of Azkaban. But Draco found it near impossible to see the good in anything anymore.

"What would you know about it?" he hissed.

Lucius pulled over Draco's desk chair and perched on the edge of it, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. After a long pause he looked up, "It wasn't so long ago that I lost your mother."

Draco flinched - in part at the mention of his mother, and in part at the subtle line his father was drawing between the two scenarios.

"And how many peoples' loved ones have you put an end to?" he threw back.

"You're right. I have a lot to answer for, Draco. And most of those people… I didn't even feel their deaths. For so long now, I've felt nothing at all. But your mother? I felt that. And this, with you? It causes me more pain than I've ever known."

"Good," Draco spat.

Lucius didn't argue, he simply nodded. Draco got the urge just then to smash a hard, blunt object across the back of his head.

Lucius' eyes narrowed, "I'd deserve it son, but that doesn't mean I'll allow you to do it."

Draco realised the full weight of his thoughts and froze.

"You may not believe that I'm here to help you, but I am. I think not so long ago you knew that… when you came here after your mother…" Lucius looked him directly in the eye. "I'll earn your trust again, I swear it, but you need to let me."

Draco hung his head. "Okay," he said eventually, "I'll go."

* * *

Draco entered a wood-panelled room set deep in the inner bowels of the Ministry of Magic. A cluster of faces looked up at him; some hard, chiselled into a form that would perhaps hold together for the duration of the ordeal ahead and some soft, most of their strength already mopped away.

Ron gestured to the chair on his right and took Draco's hand in a sharp grip once he'd seated himself, though he stared determinedly forward and said nothing.

Lucius, for his part, did his best to fade into the scenery.

A ministry official sat behind a heavy-set desk at the front of the room. He coughed twice to draw the room's attention and then began:

"We are gathered here today to conduct the Last Will and Testament of Harry James Potter. I will begin by reading Mr. Potter's statement."

Ron's hand tensed around Draco's and Draco squeezed back, teeth on edge. He found himself focusing on each word in turn, reaching out for them as if that might abate the hollow feeling that had taken hold of him.

"To my good friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, I leave my father's cloak and my personal library, in the hopes that they will remember me fondly when they use them.

"To Remus Lupin, I leave my map of Hogwarts, and hope that he can find another generation of mischief-makers to pass it on to in due course.

"To Fred and George Weasley, I leave any dark, dubious, or disgusting artefacts that are contained within Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, London, and to Nymphadora Tonks, I leave this property itself.

"To Draco Malfoy-"

Draco sucked in a sharp breath and it was Ron's turn to offer comfort, patting his arm and whispering something that Draco assumed was supposed to be reassuring.

"-I leave my father's wedding ring, and express my deepest regret that I was not able to place it on his hand myself."

Draco numbly noted that Harry must have put this revelation down on paper before expressing it to him in person, and found himself wondering _how long_ before.

"Finally, I leave my wand in Draco's care, in the hopes that it may be buried with our daughter, whose name I never knew, and who deserved better from me."

The blood drained from Lucius' face as the silence in the room grew heavy enough to taste. He could tell that the other occupants of the room were saddened but unsurprised by the words.

The ministry official seemed to think that a brief pause provided enough of a reprieve from the emotional onslaught, and continued:

"I ask that Molly and Arthur Weasley, who are the closest I've ever known to parents, be responsible for the rest of my estate, and trust that they will use their best judgement in deciding how to dispose of it."

Cold crept down Draco's body from his head to the tips of his fingers and his vision started to blacken.

"Now, Mr. Malfoy," the official addressed Draco directly. "I am authorised to inform you that Mr. Lupin left his estate to be divided between yourself and Mr. Potter, the result being that this map will also fall to you, along with all of Mr. Lupin's personal effects and a sum of," he glanced down at a piece of paper in his hand, "Ninety-six galleons, seventeen sickles, and two knuts."

Draco shivered. "I don't want it," he said.

"Well-"

"You can't ask this of me."

The official looked set to argue again but hesitated, just briefly, as he attempted to plan out the most pacifying response; Draco took advantage of this pause.

"I'm telling you ' _no_ _'_ ," he said more firmly, drawing himself up in his chair. "Now take your scrolls and your trinkets and put them back where you found them."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," the official said as gently as he could manage, "It was Mr. Potter's wish that-"

"It was Mr. Potter's wish – his promise – that he would come _home_. And I doubt he'll be happy to find his entire life carved up when he gets back."

"Draco," Lucius came forward, crouching and reaching for his son's hand only to have it yanked out of range.

"Get off me! You couldn't understand - you didn't know him. But I did, alright?"

"Okay," Lucius placated, aware that every set of eyes in the room was trained on them.

"He wouldn't break that promise. He wouldn't put me through this."

"Draco, mate," Ron tried, but Draco brushed him off.

"I'm done," Draco announced, casting a sneer over the room before stalking out if it.

* * *

Harry stood in the middle of the street eyeing the structure that towered over him. It seemed to sway and Harry swayed with it for a time, mesmerised, until he spotted something pale and translucent fluttering near the top. Curtains, he realised, blowing out from an open window.

He lowered his gaze and found the entrance. Inside the smell was rank. In the back he spied a lift with its doors pried open; empty plastic bottles and yellowed newspaper lined the bottom.

"Well you're not going up any time soon, are you?" he asked it grimly.

The gaping silence that answered struck a chord with all the worst periods in his life.

Rooting around he found the fire escape stairs. As he climbed them the heaviness in his heart started to ease off. The walls became less punctuated with suspicious stains and as he got even higher, the stairs themselves became lined with plush powder-blue carpet.

He reached the top and branched off along an immaculate corridor of smartly painted doors. He shifted Voldemort from one arm to the other and wondered absently what the corridors lower down must look like – nothing so pristine, he imagined.

He tried a few doors before he found one that would open for him. Stepping over the threshold and into the flat, he was greeted by a wide, well-kept hallway. He saw a vase filled with fresh flowers sitting on a long narrow table; he set Voldemort down next to them and was relieved to find that he didn't even put up a fight.

Light spilled in from the sitting room. He stepped inside to find that it was warm and calm. He sank to his knees on a thick rug next to the open window, basking there, listening to the gentle breeze. Before long he began to hear whispers intertwined with it, though he couldn't make out what they were trying to say.

"Hello?" he breathed. "Is anyone out there?"

The whispers didn't reply, at least not specifically to his question.

"Calling all wizards…" he joked, reaching up to tangle his fingers in the curtains.

"Draco," he started again once he'd had time to think about what he really wanted to say. "You were right, weren't you? I should have listened - I guess that much was obvious to you all along. But I made you a promise, okay? I swear I'll keep it."

His face heated up nervously when the whispers gave no immediate sign they'd heard him.

"Feel free to, you know, fracture my jaw when I get back if you want to. Merlin knows I'd deserve it."

Still nothing. Harry began to lose hope.

"I really do love you, y'kno-"

_"Who the fuck is this and why are you in my head!?"_

"Draco? Draco, it's you!?"

_"I repeat-"_

"No! No, it's me, I swear! Please, just listen to me-"

_"And why exactly would I listen to some sick, twisted fuck, who screws with people – grieving people at that – for kicks?"_

"Because I-" Harry cut himself off, frustrated. "Oh for fuck's sake Draco! Do-you-have-to-turn-every-fucking-conversation-we-have-into-a-BLOODY-ARGUMENT!?"

Even the background whispers stopped now, and Harry held his breath for so long, waiting, that he started to feel dizzy.

Finally it came:

_"Harry?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by BlueRubyBeat


	10. Chapter 10

Lucius hovered outside Draco's bathroom door. His shoulders slumped at the unmistakable sound of laughter coming from within, followed by the usual fervent chatter and the occasional splash of water. He could force his son to wash, it seemed, but not to let go of his absurd belief that he could communicate with Potter from beyond the grave.

He'd been less obsessive about it at first, or at least more rational. _'I know this is going to take a lot for you to believe father,'_ he'd started, _'But I can hear Harry... In my head...'_

Lucius had stared at him, dumbstruck and slack-jawed. After Draco's outburst at the Ministry he'd expected dark days would follow: Those where Draco would shed his denial and come to accept his loss – those where Lucius would have neither the words nor the power to put any of it right, and it would break the both of them. It hadn't happened that way.

At first they'd tried to reason with each other. They'd worked together to find someone who could prove or disprove Draco's assertions: Unspeakables, Seers, Necromancers… they'd travelled from all over the country - the world even - each one with a different assortment of tests and questions, but in the end all of them provided the same conclusion: _'I'm afraid there's just no way, Mr. Malfoy… It's not possible…'_

 _'Well of course it's bloody possible!'_ Draco had shouted at the last one, _'I can fucking hear him, can't I?'_

The old gnarl of a man had shaken his head and quietly suggested to Lucius that it was _'time to get the mind-healers in'_ as he'd hobbled his way into the fireplace.

Lucius hadn't - couldn't bear to.

From that point on Draco had started to retreat into himself. He stopped talking about Potter but he also began to shun the company of others whenever he thought he could get away with it - which, given his sharp mouth and general hostility, proved fairly easy for him. The only person he hadn't yet managed frighten away was that awful Weasley boy and Lucius often struggled to see the good in that.

With a great deal of effort, he forced himself to come away from the door. Soon he found himself wandering aimlessly through the empty corridors of the manor, and before he knew it he was in front of another door, one he bitterly recognised as his own father's former study. The door was sealed; Lucius had done it himself many years ago in a futile attempt to keep the memories in.

They hadn't been on fantastic terms by the time Abraxas – his father – had died. Their last words had been fairly spiteful, the sort of thing that haunts the surviving party. Lucius didn't believe back then that he would care much, after all, he was the one on the right side of their feud. His father had preached all his life about the importance of blood. Well, Lucius was actually doing something about it, wasn't he? He was out there fighting for that brave new world where yes, blood _did_ matter, and yes, it _would_ be protected from all the riff-raff that sought to infect it.

Lucius understood the difference now between what his father had meant and how he himself had tried to enact it.

He reached for the door handle, thinking to confront the old portrait hanging abandoned on the wall inside, but just as he did a crack sounded behind him.

"Mr. Malfoy, sir."

"What is it Flotter?"

"You is having a visitor, sir. In the reception hall. The Minister for Magic, sir."

Lucius sighed and rubbed a set of rough fingers over his eyes.

"Very well," he said, and the elf popped out of sight.

He did his very best to stand tall when he arrived to greet the other man.

"Minister," he inclined his head with a grim smile.

"Arthur," the other man corrected. "Let's not pretend with the formalities shall we? We've known each other too long for that."

"Despised each other you mean."

Arthur didn't deny it, and Lucius could see a flash of that old rivalry in his counterpart's eyes before it settled into something else. Determination perhaps.

"You're well I take it?" Arthur said as they took up seats in the guest parlour.

Lucius knew that the answer ought to be something that conveyed his _incredible gratitude_ at being pardoned from Azkaban on the _frankly rather thin_ basis of his warning about Avalon. That, and the premise that he needed to care for his heroic son, the ever-lauded _saviour_ of basically every school-age child in wizarding Britain.

"I'm utterly crap if you must know."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. Lucius poured him an extra-large measure of firewhisky.

"How is he?"

"He's…" Lucius struggled to find the words. "In a great deal of pain."

"I can well imagine," Arthur nodded solemnly. "We all are, I think."

"But you aren't the ones hearing voices," Lucius pointed out.

"True." Arthur braced himself. "I think it's time we thought about getting him specialist treatment."

Lucius unconsciously looked up through the ceiling in the direction of Draco's rooms and Arthur prepared for an argument. It didn't come.

"I don't want it to get to that," he said, but there was very little fight behind the words. Arthur wondered if that was because Lucius knew he was right or if he was simply aware of how little power he actually held in the situation.

Arthur leaned forward and set his glass on the carpet. "I think it already has."

* * *

At night – or rather when it was night for Draco, because it never really got dark where Harry was – Draco would sleep and Harry would go about the business of exploring his odd little corner of hell.

He'd pluck Voldemort up from his place on the hall table, next to the vase of ever-fresh flowers, and sling him over his shoulder. A quick trot along the corridor and down the many flights of stairs, stopping every so often to peer out of the windows - he never saw any active sign of life, just the remains of it, like all the people had simply vanished the moment he'd arrived.

When he reached the bottom he'd survey the windows there too, but still nothing. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was out there, skulking, waiting to take what was his. Each night, he'd contemplate venturing outside but a cloying, choking feeling always held him back.

Separating himself from the Horcrux made it worse. In the beginning he'd conducted experiments to see how long he could withstand his paranoia – and the inevitable screaming – before he snapped and rushed to gather the thing back up in his arms. In those moments he felt completely disgusted with both himself and the creature. Each time he put himself through it the contempt swelled up even further until finally he decided that he needed to stop trying.

On his way back up to the top of the tower he'd stop to explore different floors. He was generally gratified to find his original hypothesis correct: the lower floors were repulsive, the flats leading off them stank of cat piss and rotting meat, but they got less reproachable the higher he went, almost as if they were ascending out of this hell-hole, which Harry supposed they were.

The very top floor was different somehow, and not just because it was the most presentable. He still couldn't get any of the other doors to open, but he'd started to notice something odd about them - like the way one of them had a Chudley Cannons doormat, and another smelled distinctly of Hermione's perfume.

One night, after Draco had attempted to explain the whole situation to Ron, Harry could have sworn he'd seen a flicker of light coming through the keyhole of the Chudley Cannons door, but he still couldn't get the handle to turn. Harry wished he had a Luna-door, he suspected that it would have been pinned open with a flashing neon _'welcome'_ sign over it, but Luna had gone about a year before he had, and was hopefully sitting up on a cloud somewhere surrounded by nargles and dirigible plums.

Each morning, Harry would position himself back in the flat that linked him to Draco and wait patiently for their conversations to begin again.

_"Y'mn'wake?"_

Harry had to laugh – it barely sounded as though Draco were conscious enough to be asking the question.

"I don't sleep, remember?"

_"Mmn."_

Harry's face lit up. He settled himself into the nest of cushions and rugs he'd made for himself and let the excitement in his chest bubble over.

_"Sleepwarmgood."_

"Is that right?"

_"Brrrrmnumun."_

"Shall I let you get back to it then?"

Harry heard nothing back for an extended moment. Then, _"I'm up!"_

"Did you miss me?"

_"Nope."_

Harry raised his eyebrow even though nobody was there to see it.

"Nope?"

_"I had the good dreams. You were there."_

"Ah, well you'd best fill me in on my dream-based antics then."

_"You were a pirate. Only you had a badger instead of a parrot and a bionic leg instead of a wooden one."_

"Urrr… right. I see."

_"We sailed the high seas with a winsome band of ragamuffins and you told me you loved me every day."_

"Well I _do_ love you."

_"I know."_

Harry could hear the self-satisfaction in Draco's voice and it made him feel incredibly accomplished.

"I missed this."

Draco coughed on a thread of almost-laughter, _"Oh yeah, remember that time you were trapped in a hell dimension and everyone thought I was a nut-job."_

Harry rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. Just us talking, no drama. Like we're back in your old room at Hogwarts. Like it's that first night again."

_"Need I remind you that you're the one who created all of the drama?"_

"If I could throw something at you right now, I would you know."

_"Just giving you more of an incentive to get your arse back here, Potter."_

"As if I needed it."

Draco paused. _"Do you?"_

Harry felt the colour drain away from his face. "Of course not. But we haven't figured out how yet, have we?" he asked, praying to himself that the answer would still be _'no'._

" _See, that's what I'm talking about, that, right there. I'm back here trawling through books and slaving over theories and you're sitting on your arse willing me to fail. It doesn't feel like there's very much_ 'we' _in this situation, Harry."_

"I'd never-" Harry started to protest before cutting himself off. "I'm scared," he said honestly.

" _I gathered that."_

"This world... it gets under your skin. When I'm here, with you, it's fine, but out there... And what if I can't get back to you, here or in the living world? What would happen to you?"

_"Well that won't be an issue."_

"What if it is?"

_"It just won't, okay? See, you defied the odds to bring down Voldemort for all those thankless fucks out there. Now me? I'm full of thanks, and a darn good fuck - as you well know - so if it's odds that need defying you'd best just get to it already, for both our sakes. Alright?"_

Harry swallowed carefully. "Yes, sir."

Draco relented. _"_ _I know I'm being hard on you. I just need you home now, things are really going to shit and I-"_

"I get it," Harry assured him. "We'll fix this. Together, yeah?"

" _Together,"_ Draco agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by BlueRubyBeat


	11. Chapter 11

Draco chewed the side of his hand and gazed up at the towering shelves of books overhead. With his eyes fixed on one particular tome he toed off his slippers and socks, swayed a little, and got to work.

He dragged over a desk to sit beneath his target and perched a chair on top of that. He gripped the edge of the desk and pulled a foot up onto it's surface, deft toes spreading out to steady him as he hauled the rest of his body up. He climbed onto the chair and stretched himself tall, using the shelves as handrails. Coming level with his book at last, he edged his fingers around it and began to prise it free. It was thick, sour smelling and coated with decades of grime; the markings on its spine were sticky and left red marks on his hands as if they were written in half-dried blood.

" _What's happening?"_ Harry whispered in his head.

"Just. Gimmie-" Draco let his reply fall away as the wrenched at the book with as much force as he dared to use; beneath him his makeshift scaffolding teetered precariously. He bit onto his tongue and persevered until finally it came away.

He gingerly manoeuvred himself back to the ground with the book clamped tightly under his arm. He settled himself down on the floor and began to leaf through it only to see that page after page was blank.

" _Did you get it? Is it the right one?"_ Harry pressed. _"Is it the one your grandfather's portrait described?"_

"I'm not sure..."

Draco pressed his hand flat on the page. Some of the sticky red substance he'd picked up from the book's spine transferred onto the parchment and then disappeared; within moments the colour was back but arranged in an intricate tangle of lines.

"Hang on," Draco instructed. He closed his eyes, counted to three, and bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. He swilled the fresh blood around his mouth and spat it out onto the page.

It didn't take long for the book to transform the mess into series of glowing red images, each as grotesque and vivid as the last. Writing also began to appear here and there - labels to explain the horrors he was being shown.

" _Well?"_ Harry demanded.

Draco didn't reply at first. He manoeuvred his way around the book, flicking the pages back and forth, confirming his worst fears.

" _Draco!"_

"Dead end," he murmured, sitting back and pushing the book away slightly with his foot. He hadn't slept in two days - been too wrapped up in research to notice - but now the full weight of it crashed into him like a wave.

" _Bullshit."_

"There's nothing here that can help us, Harry. I promise you."

" _It's frightening how honest you sound when you lie."_

One side of Draco's mouth reflexively curled into a smirk as leaned back against the wall and let his eyes rest for a moment. "Not a slytherin for nothing," he mumbled, half to himself.

" _Tell me."_ Harry's voice had taken on that tooth-grinding quality that it had often made use of in the final weeks of the war.

"No. It doesn't matter, alright? We'll find something else."

" _I don't imagine there are multiple ways out of the fucking underworld, Draco! Spit it out!"_

Draco glanced at the book warily. A drawing of a man scratching out his own eyes taunted him.

" _Whatever it is, I can take it. You said you wanted me to defy some odds, so let me."_

"Not like this though... This is..."

" _Alright, start with the basics. This godforsaken pit is hell, yeah?"_

Draco turned a few pages back to a diagram of concentric circles. "Yeah. I think one of the outer rings."

" _Well that's good isn't it? If I'm in some outer ring I must be closer-"_

"The book says the only way out is through the middle," Draco cut him off. "It says you need to travel through each of the rings and convince death himself to set you free."

" _Right,"_ Harry said. _"Right. Okay._ _S_ _o how do I-"_

"You don't," Draco told him firmly.

" _This is starting to get pretty fucking tedious now, Draco."_

"You need to die. Are you happy? The book says to get from one circle to the next you need to die."

To Draco's surprise Harry started to laugh.

"You think this is funny?"

" _Well I'm already dead, aren't I? It's not like I can get any deader."_

"Actually, I think you can. I think that's the point."

" _Well what does it matter? If it gets me closer to home..."_

"But what would be left of you when you finally got back, huh? There are nine circles here, I think that means you have eight barriers to cross before you get to the centre. And this book, Harry, it's pretty graphic about what that entails. It's..."

" _Irrelevant. There's a way back, you found it. That's all that matters."_

"There are pictures in here of men peeling off their own skin. Of men bludgeoning in their own skulls..."

" _You need to get some rest,"_ Harry said at length. _"What is it? Four in the morning there?"_

"Closer to six."

" _Go to bed."_

"But-"

" _If you don't get some sleep soon you're going to start hallucinating for real. I don't want to get back to find you in a straight-jacket. We can talk about this later."_

Draco deflated. He used the last of his energies to pick himself up of the floor and do as he was told.

" _Draco?"_

"Yeah?"

" _I love you."_

* * *

At Lucius' request, Healer Tebb now sat by Draco's bedside asking him idiotic questions about Harry and bursting into poignant little coughing fits whenever Draco didn't respond to her fast enough.

She'd arrived at nine a.m. sharp, and in spite of his best intentions, Draco hadn't been particularly successful in getting any sleep up until then.

"Tell me about him," she softly demanded after little more than a _'Good Morning, how'd-you-do?'_

"He's dead," Draco replied testily.

"Your father tells me you don't really believe that."

"No, I'm well aware of his deadness, trust me."

She frowned at him. "You're not making the most of this process, Mr Malfoy."

"Well, given that I didn't ask to be part of a process, I reckon I'm good with that."

"Do you know what I think, Mr Malfoy?"

"No, but you're going to tell me, look at you, you've got the same look in your eyes a hippogriff gets before it _bites_ someone."

The healer glowered at him briefly before brushing his comments aside.

"I think you've created this fantasy of Harry to make you feel like you have some sort of control over your life."

"Is that so?" Draco snorted.

"Yes, I believe it is," she said smartly. "But the thing is, you would _have_ more control if you let go of the fantasy, do you see? If you work with me we can get you back out there, participating in society again. There are so many people who'd want to see you well again, Draco."

Draco took in a few very measured breaths while trying to decide how to approach the various assumptions Healer Tebb had made.

"Right," he began. "You say I'd have more control if I was out there in the world rather than hidden away from it having fantasy conversations with Harry, letting other people make my decisions for me - and you're right, I probably would-"

The healer's face flared with vindication.

"-So why would I make it up in the first place?"

Draco watched as the healer struggled to put together a coherent response.

"Further than that, why should I want to participate in a society that engineered the death of the man I love?"

"Aha!" Healer Tebb exclaimed before looking suitably ashamed at her lapse in professionalism. "What I mean to say is, this is about punishment then? You blame the wizarding world for taking Harry away from you so you've created a Harry that they can't take and that they themselves can't have, because you won't let them have _you_."

Draco rolled his eyes, "Yes, I'm sure that's exactly it. Bravo, Ms. Tebb."

"And you blame them because it's easier to do that than to blame the _real_ culprit – that would be you by the way."

"Excuse me?"

"Well you couldn't convince him to stay, could you? You made that whole big speech before the final battle and it wasn't enough, he left anyway."

Draco felt like he'd been hit in the forehead with a hammer. Healer Tebb was picking at her nails in a manner that reminded him starkly of Pansy Parkinson.

"How did you know about that?" he asked carefully.

"It was in the Prophet of course. The longer you stay cooped up in here the more people talk."

"Right. I'd like you to leave now."

"Well that's a pity because your father wants me here and it's his house."

"Actually, I think you'll find it's _my_ house – it passed to me when he got himself CONVICTED OF CRIMES AGAINST WIZARDRY." Draco yelled the last part to make sure Lucius, who was no doubt standing outside his bedroom door, heard.

"Settle down Mr Malfoy, anyone would think I'd hit a nerve."

Draco ground his teeth together. "I don't blame myself. I blame Harry, and I blame the people who put pressure on him to save them. But he knows that, and we've agreed to move past it."

"Would this be before or after he died?"

"Well after, obviously."

Healer Tebb stared at him with bright, interested eyes.

"What else do you talk about?"

"I don't know, everything, nothing. At first, we argued a lot."

"About how he died?"

"About how he lived," Draco corrected.

"Can I ask you something personal, Draco?"

"Because so far you've been all business?"

"Yes, actually, I have. This is something I'm personally interested to know."

"Why are you _personally interested_ in anything about me?"

The healer gave him a fleeting but possibly genuine smile. "Don't you know what's going on out there in the world, Draco? You and Harry's story… it has people fascinated. They've fallen in love with the idea of you, the romanticism of it: Two heroes, star-crossed lovers from opposite sides of the war. They'll be writing books about it for decades. You're as famous as he was now and their hearts break for you."

Draco's lack of sleep caught up with him in that moment and he suddenly felt like he was being folded beneath a tide of fatigue. He rolled over onto his side and pulled the covers up to his chin.

"So what do you want to know?"

She hesitated until Draco found her eye, "Well?" he demanded.

"Why him? How did you know he was the one for you?"

"I don't know, I just did. Nothing and no one ever got into my blood before. There were times I felt like I was running on pure Harry, like you could take away food and water and sleep and I'd be fine, 'cause I had him. Even if we were just friends, and even if we were fighting, he could make the world make sense. I trusted him. I still do." Draco looked over at her. "Oh for fuck's sake, don't get all misty eyed about it, I was actually starting to respect you."

"Right, sorry. You say you still trust him? That must be pretty hard, after everything that's happened."

"Yeah, well, like I said, we've had a lot of arguments lately."

"And how often do you talk?"

"All day usually, unless someone's here."

"Like me you mean?"

Draco smirked, "To use a relevant example, yes."

"So where's Harry now?"

"He went for a walk."

"Out in the grounds?" Healer Tebb asked, casting her eye over to the window.

"No," Draco said, exacerbated. "He's not a ghost – and thank fucking Merlin because I wouldn't have put _that_ past him - he's in Hell."

"Hell? Fire, brimstone, that sort of thing?"

"Look, no offence, but I've explained this to so many people, and none of them believed me. I hardly see the point in explaining it to someone whose _job_ it is _not_ to believe me."

"Who said I wouldn't believe you?"

"Well you're a mind healer aren't you? You're here because my father – let's face it, probably half the world by now – thinks I'm crazy. Well I'm not!"

"I never said you were. I just think you could use some help is all."

"You could help me by buggering off so I can get some shut-eye."

"You _do_ look tired. Are you at least getting respite from these conversations at night?"

"Usually."

"Usually isn't really good enough Draco, without a good sleeping routine it can be hard to see things clearly."

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Draco yawned at her, stretching his arms over his head.

The healer found herself frowning at him again. "I'm going to speak with your father, just you sit tight."

* * *

Healer Tebb found Lucius perched on a conjured stool right outside in the corridor.

"Well?" he prompted.

"You know I can't discuss specifics with you, Mr Malfoy. Not that you'd need me to," she remarked, referring to his proximity.

"Can you help him, I mean?"

"First and foremost, he needs to get some decent rest. His brain seems to be whirring constantly, that won't be helping. I'm going to give him a sedative now, unless you've any objections. It should help him get some much needed sleep – I'm concerned that if we leave him alone he'll fill his time instead with more of these hallucinations."

"And then?"

"Then we'll take each day as it comes I think."

* * *

Harry stepped into the flat he'd come to call home, placing Voldemort in his usual spot on the hallway table. He ducked his head around the living room door, "Hey love, are you up yet?"

The curtains fluttered either side of the familiar ethereal light flooding through the window. No reply came at first, then just a simple: _"Mind Healer's here."_

"Ah," Harry said, "Tell me you at least got some sleep first?"

" _Seriously,_ _put a sock in it_ _, she's right outside my bedroom door."_

"So, she knows you talk to me, otherwise she wouldn't be there, would she?" Harry said cheekily.

" _Yeah, but it's one thing to know, and-"_

Harry rolled his eyes, assuming that the Healer had come back. He briefly tried to decide if it was better to leave again and give Draco his privacy but before he could make up his mind Draco's voice rang out through the room: _"What are you doing!? Wait, stop! Stop it!"_

Harry paled at the panic he heard in that voice. "What's happening!?" he demanded to know, wishing - though not for the first time - that he could see as well as hear Draco in this place..

The room flared with colour and all the things in it seemed to be vying for Harry's attention.

" _I'm not crazy, I fucking told you! Get off me, leave me alone!"_

Everything around Harry gave an almighty rattle, and an instant later all the light from the window was sucked away, leaving Harry screaming out Draco's name in the dark.

Voldemort began to howl. Harry pressed the heels of his hands to his ears and hustled himself out of the flat, right past the shrieking bundle on the hallway table. Once out in the corridor he slammed the door behind him and kicked at the walls with fury.

Eventually, he found himself in front of Ron's door and started to pound on it with his fists. It creaked under his weight and once again a faint light flickered through the keyhole, but that was all.

"Fuck you!" he screamed at it. "FUCK YOU you sodding USELESS son-of-a-bitch!"

He turned to Hermione's door and continued his onslaught there:

"And you! Where the fuck are YOU in this?!" he demanded of it. "I WAS YOUR FRIEND!" he screamed again. "You were supposed to believe in me!"

He let himself drop, realising for the first time that his face was flushed with tears. He took a deep steadying breath.

"Fine," he whispered, scrubbing a hand down over his face. "Fine," he snarled at the door, thumping his hand off it for good measure. "Fuck-ing-fuck-ing-blood-y-shite-ing-fuck-ing-fine!" he chanted to a whole series of further thumps. "Have it your way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive massive apologies for the long wait for this chapter. My usual beta has had to take a bit of a sabbatical. Many many thanks to the wonderful Liepe for her work beta-ing this chapter for me. And thanks to everyone who's come back for sticking with me!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little baby chapter to tide you over until the next proper one tonight. This is incredibly short but I feel that it's a legitimate chapter in it's own right because it doesn't naturally sit with the chapter before or after.

Harry stood on the top of his tower block and tried to get his bearings.

"Here goes nothing..." he whispered to the wind swirling around him. He peered over the edge, swaying slightly in time with the concrete, rubbish-strewn ground below.

Voldemort screamed with an almighty fury at his feet. The dread that overcame Harry whenever he was parted from the creature had grown exponentially in the days since Draco's voice had been snatched away. He found himself jealously guarding it, keeping it close - but he knew he couldn't take it with him. Where he was headed was one step closer to the exit sign, there was no way he could justify taking Voldemort – or any small fragment of him – any further.

He looked down at it grimly, and then over his shoulder. The feeling that something was watching them, waiting for Harry to leave the creature defenceless, grew louder still.

He ignored it - held one foot out over the edge and somehow forgot how to move the other. He grew light-headed; his stomach began to twist up into a knot.

Finally, in the last instant and completely on instinct, he stepped back, grabbed the creature, and hurled them both into the air for gravity to take its course.


	13. Chapter 13

"How do you feel?"

 _'Bored out of my fucking skull,'_ Draco thought to himself, shrugging his shoulders and eventually offering up the word, "Fine," instead.

Healer Tebb lifted an eyebrow.

"It's three years to the day since you first went under sedation, it would be normal to feel a little… affected by that."

Draco thought back to that day, so long ago now. It was hard to remember a time before the constant haze of potions and sleep but he could just about make it out: The sharpness of everything, the feel of it in his head, in his heart - the world he was just starting to wake up to again.

"Yes, well, like I said, I'm fine."

"I'd say it might even be normal for a person in your situation to feel… resentful."

Draco ground his jaw.

"Did he tell you to ask that?"

"If by _'he'_ you're referring to your father, then no… but I think it _is_ something that concerns him, and so _yes_ , he's the reason I'm asking – doesn't mean it's not a relevant question though."

Draco dropped his gaze, _'Do I resent the man_ _who's spent_ _the last three years_ _drugging me_ _up to my eyeballs, let's think…'_

"Well I don't," he lied.

"If not your father, perhaps someone else? You might blame me for instance, or even yourself?"

"Nope."

"What about-"

_'Don't go there…'_

"-Harry."

Draco wanted to reach over and rip the name out of Healer Tebb's throat even as it was being said. With great effort he shoved the impulse down - staying sedative-free and having his life back hinged on him acting calm and rational, especially when it came to Harry.

"Harry did what he thought was best. He'd want me to move on with my life."

"Did he tell you that?"

"No, he didn't have the chance before he died," Draco told her, "And after… well that was all in my head, I know that now. But he loved me, and that's what you want for the people you love, isn't it?"

"Yes, Draco," Healer Tebb reached out to wrap a hand around one of his. "Your father and I wondered if you wanted to have dinner with him tonight?"

"Dinner?" Draco asked, "Like, solid food? With cutlery? No more replenishing potions?"

Healer Tebb gave him a promising smile, "We'll see. Why don't you pick out something smart to wear, I'm sure your father would appreciate that."

Draco frankly didn't give a flying fuck what his father would appreciate, but for actual solid food – the kind he could eat by his own hand – he'd do almost anything.

* * *

Harry shuddered and slunk down to the ground, wrapping his arms around his knees. Cold beads of sweat dripped down into his eyebrows as he curled his fingers into the dirt. Beside him, Voldemort let out an abject groan.

"What?" Harry spat. "If you've got something to fucking say about the situation then by all means just come on out with it!"

Voldemort simply grunted.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

Something scurried out from a clump of rocks some distance away and headed straight for them. It was roughly the size of a small cat but moved closer to the ground and had long sticky clumps of fur jutting out at all angles. Harry grabbed for the crudely carved shiv he now habitually kept to hand and scuttled toward it, gnashing his teeth and waving the weapon overhead. The creature wavered for a moment between forward and back before making a hasty retreat.

"Fuck! Shitting fucking FUCK!"

The only reply came in the form of more grunting and Harry, in a fit of rage, grasped the bundled-up Voldemort in one fist and shook him violently; he was slightly ashamed of how satisfying it felt.

It had been three years since he'd punched is way into this circle of hell and he usually regarded it as the worst decision he'd ever made in his life. Instead of broken-down cars and dilapidated buildings this place had heat, and dirt, and fucked-up little rock-dwelling monsters that wanted to eat the flesh off his bones and he couldn't take much more of it!

He suspected there was no way to die in this place - to move on from it - except by their teeth. When he'd first arrived he'd explored every other option he could think of, even trying several times to crack his skull off the rocks, but this only bought him a few hours of unconsciousness at a time. Oddly, the creatures weren't interested in him then, they wanted him awake. Nor did they pay any mind to Voldemort, something which Harry harboured a great deal of resentment about.

Sometimes he'd gnaw on his hands to try to convince himself that he could go through with it. Once, he'd even let one come close enough to try. It had sunk its teeth into his leg and Harry had never felt such blinding pain. He'd scrambled away from it and had been frantically fending them off ever since.

"Oh dear, not interrupting a bout of self-pity am I?"

Harry swung around to find a squat, hobbled-over woman in a dirty grey cloak creeping towards them.

"Who the fuck are you!?" he demanded, brandishing the shiv once more.

"Never you mind dear."

"What do you want!?"

"My my, so many questions. Only to help you, that's all."

Harry's eyes darted around looking for some kind of ambush or trick.

"I don't believe you."

"You don't believe something good could exist here? Something that might want to _do_ good? Then, pray tell me, what exactly are _you_ doing here?"

"None of your damn business!"

The woman threw back her head and let out a shrill cackle. "Oh excellent, I knew you'd be a fun one."

"I'm not playing."

"Neither am I," she told him. "But I know things... For instance, I know that you get home... _in the end._ "

Harry tensed, squinting at her, trying to pick out some detail that would explain her motives.

"How could you possibly-"

"Because you're Harry Potter," she said, as if she expected that to resolve everything.

Harry growled, "That doesn't mean I'm going to get home, it just means I was stupid enough to get stuck here in the first place."

"Ah, so you admit that you _are_ quite stupid then?"

"I didn't-"

"Well you can't take it back now, especially not since it's true. I mean, look at you!" she cackled again. "Dragging that wretched creature around the underworld with you - it's a tattered old scrap of soul for Pete's sake, not the embodiment of all evil. It's not going to grant whoever gets its hands on it unlimited power to end the world. The most terrifying thing it's capable of is a bowl movement."

Harry furrowed his brow, trying unsuccessfully to formulate his argument.

"I could take him off your hands."

"You really _do_ think I'm stupid."

"Oh do shut up. I simply want to… recycle him. That's what I do you see - clean up the things that aren't meant for here."

"Trust me, he's meant to be here."

The woman's eyes flashed. "Actually, you're each supposed to be somewhere else, but together… well... it went a bit wrong."

The wheels in Harry's head started to pick up speed, "Hang on – you clean up the things that shouldn't be here? You can send me home?"

"Where I should be sending you and where you want to go are _not_ the same place," she said knowingly.

"Well how do I get home then!?" Harry demanded, losing patience.

She waved off the question. "This is a hard dimension," she murmured instead. "Don't misunderstand me, the others are cruel, monstrous places, but at least you can traverse them quickly if you have the stomach for it. This one though," she tailed off with a wincing sound. "It's long – slow. Not to mention horrifically painful."

"So… I _do_ have to…" Harry's blood started to pound in his ears; he bit his tongue to keep from retching.

The woman smirked in a way so reminiscent of Draco that Harry's heart twisted on reflex.

"Perhaps not. I can move you 'next door', so to speak. By way of payment," she finished suggestively, eyeing Voldemort.

Harry scrubbed the heels of his hands into his face, "I can't…"

"Oh but you can, surely."

"I wish-"

"Yes?"

"-that I could talk to him again," Harry finished weakly. "Draco that is," he clarified, too in his own head to consider that this woman probably had no idea who Draco was. "I miss him so much that I can't think straight, and now I'm so lost…"

The woman cocked her head to one side, making the lopsided grin on her face seem almost balanced.

"I could stretch to that," she said slowly. "But that'll be it – and there'll be no going back. You'd better be certain you can live with those terms. You know the old saying… be careful what you wish for."

"I don't understand."

The woman reached into her cloak and brought out a long, heavy pendant. She cast a few words over it and it turned a translucent shade of purple.

"Touch this," she said, "And you'll be transported to the next circle. After that, when you wear this you will be able to speak to your 'Draco'. Though you should bear in mind that he may not be as receptive you'd think. Three years is a long time…"

Harry barely heard her. His eyes followed the pendant back and forth. With effort, he pulled his gaze away to study Voldemort one last time.

"He's really not evil?"

"Oh he is, but he's also weak and completely devoid of power."

Harry let out a long breath and waited for his better judgement talk some sense into him; it didn't.

"Fine," he said eventually.

"Really? Fantastic! One last thing dear..."

"Yeah..?"

In a split second her cheek was pressed up against his. "You have no idea what you've just done!" she rasped. In that instant she settled the pendant into his waiting hand and he was whisked away.

* * *

Draco and Lucius sat across from each other in the formal dining room of Malfoy Manor in relative silence save for the sounds of cutlery against plates.

"I asked the elves to make this especially, I know it's your favourite," Lucius tried carefully.

Draco managed a nod. In his head he was listing over and over the reasons why it was not in fact a good idea to jab a fork into his father's eye.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fi-" Draco stalled. His vision started to curl at the edges and he gripped the table until his knuckles turned white.

 _"Draco?"_ Harry's voice whispered in his head.

"Son?" Lucius asked, perturbed. "Are you alright?"

Draco shook his head clear. "Yeah. I'm fine. Sorry."

_"Draco, can you hear me?"_

"Are you sure?" Lucius asked again.

"I said I'm fine!"

Lucius recoiled the hand he had reached out in comfort and Draco immediately regretted the look of alarm on his face.

"Sorry, look, this was great. I just have a sore head is all, can I be excused?"

Lucius nodded, studying his son carefully as he pushed back his chair and stalked out of the room.

* * *

Many hours later, Lucius paced his drawing room. Dinner had been a welcome relief from his usual daily routine of forcing potions down Draco's throat, but he'd imagined it would be more – that it would _mean_ more. In the years since the war their relationship had been hard. Lucius couldn't pinpoint exactly when Draco had stopped fighting him, but he had, and now he wanted nothing more than to have the bright, sarcastic, smart-mouthed version of his son back, because at least _that_ Draco was his own person.

The heavy din of the manor's ancient brass knocker sounded three times. A moment later a house-elf came to let him know that the Weasley boy was in the entrance hall and Lucius dutifully made his way through the house to greet him.

"I heard you passed your auror exams, Mr Weasley. Congratulations."

Ron turned his head sharply towards the words, "Where did you hear tha-?"

Lucius cut him off, "Calm down Mr Weasely, nobody's been feeding me secret Ministry information - it was in the Prophet."

He watched Ron compose himself. "Well, then, thank you Mr Malfoy."

Lucius gave a curt nod and led Ron through the manor to Draco's room. Once there, Ron entered alone.

"Draco?" he ventured, confused to see the bed unoccupied.

"Yeah?" Draco replied. He sat at his desk, looking out over the gardens with his chin in his hands.

"Mate! When did-"

"Today."

"And…" Ron carefully moved closer, "How are you feeling?"

"Why does everybody keep asking me that!?"

Ron paused. "Well, probably because they want to know the answer? Just putting it out there..."

Draco turned to meet Ron's eyes, unable to keep the small smile off his face. "Well… that makes sense I guess."

"Seriously, Draco. You look... Well, I was beginning to wonder if you'd be staying a drool-fest for the rest of our lives."

"Maybe I will," Draco said softly.

Ron knitted his brows together in concern. "I don't understand."

"Three years without the voices, that's how long it took to get here."

"I know - it's been a hard road mate, but we've got there in the end, haven't we?"

"And if they came back," Draco ignored him, "Then I'd have to go back on the potions. And then how long would it be until they chanced it again. Maybe they never would. Maybe I'd never be free again."

"Who says they're going to come back?"

The first time Draco tried to answer his throat was too dry to make the sounds. The second time he managed to get out two words: "They are."

Ron felt his face turn cold. "Are you sure?"

"I can't live like that Ron, I can't go back."

"You need to talk to the healers-"

"Are you shitting me!? That's the last thing I need to do. As soon as they find out I'll lose any opportunity I have to get out of this."

"Draco, this isn't something you can 'get out of'."

Draco paused for a moment, wetting his lips. "I think it is," he said quietly.

Ron stared at him. "No."

"Yes."

"Why are you telling me this? I can't _know_ this."

"Because I need your help."

"I'm not going to help you bloody well _top yourself,_ Draco!"

"Will you keep your voice down!" Draco chastised him, but Ron had already started to hyperventilate and had eased himself to perch on one of the window seats a safe distance away from where Draco sat.

Draco frowned at him. "Look, I know this isn't what you would have wanted. We were friends, you and me… we still are… I know you probably imagined that one day, you'd come here and I'd be sat up and talking and we'd have a good solid man-hug and play chess and laugh about all the good times we had before all this _shit_ happened… But I need you to put that to one side, okay? You're the only one who can help me now."

"I'm going to get your father."

Draco made for the door, successfully lodging himself between it and Ron.

"I can't let you do that."

"Let me past."

"I just need my wand. I can use it to get out of here, and then I can find somewhere peaceful and just-"

"Can you hear yourself? Peaceful? You know _first-hand_ how little peace death leaves behind, how much hurt it causes. Why would you do that to your friends, your father?"

"Oh since when do you give a fuck about my father? And what friends, huh? The only person who still comes is you."

"That's because you chased them all away!"

"Didn't take too much chasing from what I remember."

"So that's what this is about? You're feeling sorry for yourself? You get your life back and realise it's just not worth the effort anymore so you decide to chuck it in?"

"You're not even remotely close," Draco hissed. "I can hear him, Ron. Right now. He's pleading with me to answer him. He says he needs me and he can't find his way home without me. How am I supposed to go about my life ignoring that? His voice… it's so full of misery, and I know it's not real, but... what do I do with that? I can't go back to the potions. This is the only other thing I can do."

"I can't."

"Please, Ron. I need help. I need my friend to help me. He'd want you to."

"He wouldn't."

"He'd want me to be free," Draco insisted. "Just my wand, that's all I'm asking."

Ron worked to steady his breathing and think, fists clenching and unclenching as he did.

"Alright," he said finally, "I'll get it for you."

"Tha-"

"Don't. Just don't."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks once again to the delightfully sparkly Liepe for beta-ing this chapter. *slobbery kisses*


	14. Chapter 14

Ron pulled Draco's bedroom door closed behind him, shutting away the problem for the time-being.

"Leaving so soon?"

His entire body flinched.

"Sorry, I didn't intend to scare you," Lucius told him.

"It's fine," Ron said hesitantly.

"Well you look rather green, Mr Weasley. I'd have thought you'd be happier to see him up and about."

Ron furrowed his brows. "You didn't hear..." he half asked, half whispered to himself.

Oddly, the corner of Lucius' mouth twitched upward towards a smile. "Ah, he's up to his old tricks again then?"

"What?"

"Oh come now, you remember how abrasive he used to be. Though I must say, you used to handle it better."

"Oh... yeah... I guess I did."

"I think you're in need of a stiff drink, hmm? Come on, you might as well finish off the bottle your father's been working on," Lucius finished with a grumble. Ron blinked, struck by the notion of Lucius and his father drinking together.

He shook it off quickly, turning to the task at hand - he was good at following orders, carrying out instructions, doing as he was told - it was what had gotten him through three years of Auror training. As Lucius turned to lead him down the hallway those Auror reflexes took hold. Before he could stop himself his wand had subtly tilted in the direction of Lucius' back and a whispered _'imperio'_ had fallen from his lips.

Lucius' foot lingered in mid-step.

"Bring me Draco's wand," Ron told him.

Lucius twisted, his body looked like it was being held up by strings. Ron wondered if he hadn't put too much force into the spell but he needed for Lucius to be swept so far into his own head that he stood no chance of remembering what had happened to him. He set off in a blunt, clumsy stride.

* * *

Ten minutes later, with the wand stashed safely away in the folds of his robes, Ron bid a still-dazed Lucius farewell.

"You've had a bit too much to drink, Mr Malfoy. Perhaps an early night?"

Lucius nodded vacantly.

"I can see myself out, thanks."

More nodding, and a small amount of saliva pooling in the corner of Lucius' mouth. Ron turned and headed for the entrance hall before Lucius' senses had the chance to reassert themselves. As he made to pass by Draco's door he stalled, wondering if he should just hand the thing over and be done with it. But he needed _time_. And to _think_. He needed to be _sure -_ and a colder, more shocking, more pragmatic part of him needed to put some distance between what he'd just done and what Draco was planning to do.

His partner – a cocky little shit of an Auror named Parsons - smirked when he turned up at the office looking tense and grey. "Avoiding the wife again are we?" he asked, like the smarmy git he was.

Ron ignored him. He climbed around the haphazard piles of paperwork surrounding his desk to get to his chair and sunk into it. His entire body shouted _'fuck off'_ , from the hunched shoulders to the fingers he raked over his scalp, and eventually Parsons left him alone.

After an hour of staring at his desk, with no irate, career-ending call from Malfoy senior, he let himself fall apart. His throat felt like it was filled with rocks; he swallowed painfully around them as the first hot tears lurched their way out onto the worn surface of the desk.

"Shit… Bro, I didn't-"

Ron looked up at Parsons, who must have heard the bizarre sobbing sounds from the other room and decided to investigate. He loomed in the doorway, seemingly at a loss for what to do.

Ron's eyes narrowed and he threw the first thing to hand – a broken quill – in his partner's direction. It was a weak move but Parsons got the message and slowly backed out of the room again with his hands out in front of him. Ron reached into his bottom desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of firewhisky and his old school chess set. He dumped the chess set unceremoniously on the desk as he unscrewed the cap of the bottle and took a long slug of the liquor within. Once the burning sensation had worked its way through his system he retrieved Draco's wand and stashed it with the chess pieces. Then he took out his own wand and cast the most obscure concealment charm he could think of – something that couldn't be revealed by anything on the standard Auror spell list. There was a chance – a _chance_ – that it would survive an inspection. He hoped with all he had that it wouldn't come to that. Then he turned back to the bottle, slow and steady as the night crept over him.

* * *

By the time morning came the voices had turned nasty. Draco stubbornly refused to acknowledge them and they in turn screamed their displeasure at being ignored. ' _Liar_ _'_ , that was the favourite word, followed by _'_ _coward_ _'_. They'd rather disapproved of his conversation with Ron – Draco supposed that this was because some inner part of him knew that what he was planning _was_ cowardly, and that he _had_ been lying when he'd said it was something that Harry would want.

"Well Harry's not here, is he?" he murmured absently to himself. "It doesn't matter what he would want..."

Ha! That shut them up!

Ron's head poked around the door like he half-hoped to find Draco back in bed, drooling silently into the pillow.

"No such luck," Draco offered apologetically.

"Can't blame a guy..." Ron muttered back.

He looked rough.

Draco opened his mouth. Closed it again. Noticed the chess set under his arm and frowned.

"Don't worry, I just needed a cover," Ron said. He cast the appropriate charms and prised the wand out from its hiding place among the chess pieces. He placed it down on the table next to where Draco sat.

"I'd forgotten how... _'mine'_ it felt..." Draco whispered, tracing his fingers along the grain.

"Yeah, well, I'd best be going then," Ron told him stiffly, turning to leave without letting Draco's eyes find his.

"No, stay! Please?"

"Look, I don't wanna be any more a part of this than I already am."

"Is it a full set?"

"What?" Ron stalled, furrowing his brow and finally looking in Draco's direction.

"The chess," Draco clarified. "We could play."

"You don't have to do that."

"I know I don't, I want to. I missed it."

Ron offered up a mirthless laugh, "What, me wiping the floor with you?"

"Yeah."

When he said it, Draco thought his voice sounded small. He _felt_ small. Somehow it was comforting.

Ron gave in. They set up the board in silence. Ron took white, like he always had, and Draco grumbled about it like _he_ always had - that was just how it was done.

Draco hesitated when it came to make his move; his hand hovered over the board, contemplating.

"Did you imperious my father?" he finally asked, wincing in anticipation of the answer.

Ron eyed him carefully. "Yes," he said.

Draco jumped a knight over his unbroken line of pawns. "I thought you might have. He came to see me last night and he was... wrong."

Ron nodded and made another move.

"I didn't mean for you to risk your career for me..."

"It'll be more than my career on the block if anyone finds out. You know that, right?"

"Yeah," Draco murmured sadly.

They played on.

"I don't want you to do this," Ron said in a final, last-ditch-effort sort of way as his remaining bishop decapitated one of Draco's knights.

Draco smiled softly. "I know. But I have to."

"You don't though. You really- you just need to-"

"Ron," Draco cut him off, resting a hand over one of his friend's, "You don't know. If you did... you'd know, you know?"

"No. But I want to."

"Thanks for that."

Ron shrugged awkwardly.

"Also, checkmate."

Ron made to shrug again but stopped short. "What the f- how did you _do_ that?"

"Superior Malfoy intellect," Draco advised.

"Yeah right! You hoodwinked me!"

Draco laughed and slapped his friend's arm in retaliation. Once he started he couldn't seem to shut it down - it'd been so long since he'd felt true happiness bubble up in his chest that all he could do was let it out into the world.

" _How can you laugh?"_ the voice asked him softly, and Draco in the heat of the moment replied: "How can I not!?"

Ron tilted his head to one side.

Draco realised what he'd done and bit his lips together.

"You weren't talking to me just then were you?"

Draco shook his head slowly, still clamping down on his lips with his teeth.

"What if..." Ron started, looking guilty as hell. "What if it's real?"

Draco looked at him with pity marked across his face. "It's not. People don't die and go to live in other people's heads, Ron. People don't stick around beyond the grave to have whimsical conversations about pirates and bionic legs."

" _Yes they fucking do! I was there you sodding eejit!"_

Draco rolled his head between his shoulders.

"Yeah, I guess," Ron conceded begrudgingly.

"You should go," Draco said, somewhat abruptly. It took Ron a moment to understand. "I'll make appearances, make sure I'm seen, and leave tonight."

" _Don't you dare! Don't you bloody dare! Not when I'm so close, Draco!"_

"You're sure about this?"

"I'm sure," Draco told him – and the voice – firmly.

"Where will you go?"

Draco simply shook his head in a way that somehow explained _'bad idea'_ and opened up his arms. Ron leaned into them and let Draco hug him.

"Thank you for everything. I mean that," Draco whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so sorry for the wait! It's been crazy this past few (several) weeks! I'm not gonna lie, it's still a little crazy, but I'm hoping I'm over the worst of it now! (wish me luck!)
> 
> Xxxxxxxxxx


	15. Chapter 15

Draco tilted his head, following the line of an ancient oak tree right up to where it clambered into the sky. He'd walked in tangled circles for what seemed like miles, broken his wand and discarded the pieces along the way, and now he was certain he couldn't escape his choice even if he tried to. In every direction the forest closed ranks around him. He breathed a quiet sigh and settled himself down on the soft, earthy ground.

"This is it I guess," he told no one in particular, trying not to care when no one answered.

He failed. In that moment he felt more alone than he ever had in his life. He realised then what he'd been counting on – not his death itself, but the free moments that would lead up to it.

"I've nothing left to lose now, Harry." he said dryly. "Come out, come out..."

* * *

A few hundred miles away, hidden several stories beneath the streets of London, two Unspeakables sat perched on the edge of a large stone dais. In the centre of that dais stood a worn old archway, and from it hung a tattered black veil.

The two wrote frantic scribbles across ministry-issue parchment to match the whispers that escaped the veil: _'Leave now, it's not safe... not safe... he comes, he's coming...'_

"I really do think we should listen," the first Unspeakable said to the other.

"Lucy! Will you just drop it already?" the other snapped back. "Nothing's come through that wretched veil in fourteen-hundred-bloody-years, it's not about to start spitting out brain-munchers _now_ is it?"

Lucy shushed her colleague. During their exchange the veil had begun to behave very strangely: it now stood completely still and the whispers had trailed off leaving only silence. The Unspeakables waited.

"I don't like this Sam..."

Sam looked like she wanted to protest but couldn't quite bring herself to. In the end she didn't get much of a chance - within seconds the veil flared back to life, ripping back and forth in its archway like it might tear itself free.

The room grew hot. The girls staggered back off the dais and pressed themselves against the chamber wall. The veil caught fire then, burning up entirely in a flash of bright light which for an instant stretched the room high above their heads.

Sam reached out blindly and found Lucy's hand. Somehow the heat in the room grew more intense, rising higher and higher until the two witches felt the skin on their hands and faces begin to blister. Through bloodshot eyes they watched as a figure cast head-to-toe in flames stepped through the archway. It unleashed a feral screech and moved toward them at a terrifying speed. It reached out a hand to each of them but as its fiery fingers touched their flesh they themselves began to smoulder and burn. Within minutes their corpses were charred black and the creature began to screech once more.

* * *

On the other side of he world, in a dull, smoky bar, a man with dusty blond hair prodded a slice of lime around his glass. In the back of the room, a girl with pale, glowing skin danced on a stage high above her patrons. Neither of the two made any effort to acknowledge the other.

The girl's dance was slow at first, bending with the music that wound its way out from the speakers overhead. Beneath her feet flames licked up through a well-placed grate; she leapt through and over them and used the shadows they cast to her advantage, never showing any sign that it hurt her.

As the music sped up, so did she, keeping time until she found herself spinning directly above the fire, unable to stop. She reached her arms out but still she continued to spin. The music was so loud in her ears that she could hardly think.

As her audience looked on the flames began to creep up her legs. Half of the crowd looked on in wonder, a few even started to clap their hands. The other half looked mildly horrified – they awkwardly scanned the room to reassure themselves that a call to emergency services wasn't needed.

Soon her whole body was engulfed in hot orange fire and still she continued to spin until all at once she came to a screeching halt. The flames burst from her in a great explosion and then, just as suddenly, the whole room fell dark. The clapping started up again – tentative at first but it grew to a definite rumble in moments. A spotlight appeared in the centre of the stage and the girl materialised once more, unharmed. She gave a simple modest bow and disappeared back into the darkness.

Twenty minutes later she discretely approached the man with the lime.

"You looked completely riveted..." she told him sweetly, "Remind me to invite you to all my shows."

The man rolled his eyes. "Watching my little sister parade about for a bunch of drooling Neanderthals isn't exactly my idea of entertainment, Ash."

"Neanderthals indeed," she scoffed, "You wouldn't know art if it bit you on the face."

Her brother shrugged, wearing the statement easily. "Want a drink?"

"You're stalling, Cal. Dad sent you."

"Yeah," he confirmed, rubbing his eyes.

"Well?"

"I offered to do this, okay? But he doesn't want me, he wants you. You know what he's like."

"What Branko wants..." she agreed. "What exactly _does_ he want?"

"You remember that guy?" Cal dropped his voice and beckoned his sister to sit. "That wizard that came to ask the elders for help in their war a few years ago?"

"Vaguely..." she said, sweeping into a seat across from him. "What does he have to do with anything?"

"Did you know that Dad still keeps tabs on him?"

"I- No," she frowned.

"Well he does. And apparently he's in trouble. Dad wants you to go and find him."

"I don't understand," Asha leaned in to the conversation. "What's so important about this guy? He's just some wizard."

Cal slumped back in his chair and folded his arms, "Well, maybe, but Dad wanted to make him one of us back then, and I think he still does."

Asha closed her mouth. "You're serious?"

"Yup."

"Dad offered him sponsorship, and he, what - turned it down?"

Cal nodded. "Pretty much."

"Wizards," she muttered. "Fucking idiots, the lot of them."

"Not this one apparently."

Asha raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"Do you know how the council make their judgement of outsiders?" he asked her after a while.

She shook her head.

"Well, they reach in and they pluck out a heartstring. Not one attached to anyone or any _thing_ , just... something that represents the general essence of the person. It gives them a read on the person's true nature."

He paused to watch his sister shudder.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Pretty invasive, huh?"

She inclined her head in a way that told him exactly how little she approved.

"Dad still has it," Cal said carefully, clarifying: "This wizard's heartstring."

"Why?"

"Why he kept it isn't really the point, Ash... It's still _connected_ to him – frankly I'd rather know why he let Dad keep it in the first place. Perhaps he didn't realise. Perhaps there's something else going on, who knows, that's not really he point either-"

"Well then what is!?" Asha huffed impatiently.

"The point is, he showed it to me. He wanted me to share with you what I felt."

He put his hand out for hers. When she reached over and took it, a bolt of warmth went through her. She felt love and courage and loyalty at first, but all too soon it turned sharp. She felt the heart break over and over again as if it were her own until eventually it all went numb. The last thing she felt was an overwhelming desire to die.

"He intends to end his own life then?" she asked quietly.

"Not if you stop him."

"Right," she placed two shaking hands on the table in front of her to steady them. "And how exactly am I supposed to do that?"

"You have it in you, Ash. You're an Elemental, track his magic. I seem to remember you were pretty good at that when we were kids. Far better than I was anyway, that's probably why Dad wants you."

"And if I don't get to this guy in time?" she hissed. "What then, huh? I get to have that on my conscience for the rest of my life? Thanks a-fucking-lot!"

"Hey! I told you, I didn't want to put this on you."

Asha deflated, pulled her fingers through her long hair and sighed. "I know."

"If you want someone to blame, blame Dad."

"Oh believe me, I do," she muttered.

"But you'll do it?" Cal asked.

Asha hesitated. "There are others who are better at tracking than I am," she pointed out.

"There might be, but he can't order them to get involved in wizarding affairs without consulting the other elders. This is off the books, all of it. Do you see?"

She scrubbed her face with the heels of her hands.

"Well?"

"Well, I guess that means I'm heading north then doesn't it?"

"North?" Cal repeated, surprised. "You can sense him from here? That's pretty impressive, Ash."

"No you- he was British wasn't he? The UK is north of here. That's basic geography not magic."

"Oh. Right you are." Cal's face became tinged with pink. "What if he's not there?"

"Then I don't know. But it's the best place I have to start."

"Good luck then."

Asha scowled. "You know, this shit is exactly why I left home in the first place."

Cal nodded in agreement and watched her dissolve into the surrounding air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, sorry for the delay in the chapter. It's quite a cryptic one, I know, but I hope you liked it anyway. 
> 
> As always you know I'll get the next one to you asap - but I can't guarantee that I'll have it within the month unfortunately :( I hope to have the time to write more often again soon (by the end of January) wish me luck!!
> 
> Xxxx


	16. Chapter 16

Dusk fell quickly over Malfoy Manor. By the time Lucius realised it, the words on the page in front of him had all but faded into darkness. Absently he waved a hand in the direction of his desk lamp and it flickered to life.

> _'Following on from the gruesome murder of two of our own Ministry's Unspeakables last week, a further three civilian deaths have now been confirmed by investigators as connected to the same case. The indiscriminate nature of these killings, and lack of apparent motive, is what gives this reporter the greatest cause for concern._
> 
> _'Insight into the Auror department's handling of the case makes for grim reading. At the time of print no lines of enquiry were under pursuit and no suspects had yet been identified for questioning. I spoke with Bertha Brindhaust, CEO of Diagon Ward & Shield Solutions Ltd to see what advice she might offer our readers in these troubling times...'_

Lucius cast the newspaper aside with a sneer and picked up another.

> _'The Ministry has revealed this morning that Draco Lucius Malfoy, war hero and former lover of the late Harry Potter was discovered missing by his father in the late hours of Wednesday evening._
> 
> _'While it has yet to be confirmed by the Ministry if Mr Malfoy Snr. is considered a suspect in his son's disappearance, this reporter considers it highly likely, and asks – just what were the key figures in this brave, broken, young man's life thinking when they entrusted his care to a convicted deatheater? On that note, what were the Wizengamot thinking when they signed this monster's release from Azkaban? And most importantly now, when exactly do they intend to rectify the situation and send him back where he belongs?'_

Lucius snarled and once again cast the offending paper aside. His desk was littered with them, all in varying shades of decay. He read over them in a haphazard loop, each day adding another to the pile and every-so-often throwing one in the general direction of the fire.

"Does it help?"

Lucius involuntarily jumped at the voice and turned a set of squinting eyes to the doorway. Arthur Weasley, esteemed Minister for Magic, stood there in a poorly tailored robe and his cap scrunched up in his hand. Lucius pinched the bridge of his nose for strength.

"No, but what else would you have me do? It's not like I can _go_ anywhere is it? Or Merlin-forbid do anything remotely useful, you've seen to that."

"The Aurors are stationed here as much for your protection as for anyone else's."

"Oh well, don't I feel safe?"

Arthur ignored the sarcasm. "May I sit?"

"Have you found my son?" Lucius countered.

"I'm afraid not. Not yet. But we're still looking, we're still hopeful."

"Are you now? I wish I could be," Lucius retorted bitterly, fishing around for the nearest decanter and pouring himself a generous helping of whatever it happened to contain. "And what of this _thing_ , this fire-demon that's rampaging across the country?"

"That's an entirely separate case. I can't talk to you about that."

Lucius scoffed and lounged back in his chair, glass in hand. "They say it's Voldemort. That he came back through the veil and that the two Unspeakables he killed were there in the Department of Mysteries to witness it."

"Do you believe that?" Arthur asked him quietly, looking down at his clasped palms.

Lucius' blood turned cold. He rose from his seat. "It's true then? You're telling me that my son is out there, alone, with that bloody lunatic on the loose?"

"Voldemort is dead."

"You can't know that."

Arthur set his teeth. "I can't, no. I seem to remember you had your wand pointed directly between my eyes at the time. But _you_ saw it happen, you believed it enough to stand down."

"That madman achieved many things that others said were impossible," Lucius hissed. "So that's why you're here then, is it? This little visit has nothing at all to do with Draco, you just wanted to reassure yourself about what happened at Avalon!"

"Lucius-"

"Did you ever care about what happened to him or was he just an excuse to waltz into my home whenever you felt like it?"

"Of course I care."

"Well the Prophet appears to disagree," Lucius shot back, throwing one of the dishevelled newspapers in Arthur's face.

The door to Lucius' study clicked open and an Auror's wand reached through it.

"Are you alright, Sir?"

Arthur brushed himself down. "I'm fine, Smith."

The young Auror looked hesitant to leave.

"Mr Malfoy and I are having a private discussion, Smith."

"Ah, right you are, Sir."

Arthur waited until the door had fully closed before turning back to the conversation.

"Lucius, if I wanted to torment you I could do it much more easily with you in Azkaban, and if I had even the smallest belief that Draco's care would be better served in another place or in another way, I would have him moved. _I_ am his legal guardian, not you. _You_ ," he held out a quivering finger, "Are a convicted deatheater. The fact of the matter is that I have a responsibility to him that outweighs what I feel about either of you and I take that responsibility very seriously!"

Lucius scowled into space. Arthur closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and grimaced at himself.

"For what it's worth, I _do_ care. Draco is a good man, I fought by his side and I trusted him. Harry loved him and Harry... well he was a hard man to get on-side. I didn't take the decision to rally support for your release lightly. I did it because I could see that you were the person Draco needed if he ever hoped to make a recovery."

"He despises me."

"He despises everyone except Harry, doesn't he?"

"It's different, he grew up hating me. I wanted it that way. I thought it would be easier for both of us, but..." Lucius trailed off. "You know, there was a time - right before the end of the war - that I thought there might be a chance for us. There was a moment here in this study where we seemed to understand each other... That was before Potter died. I think he blames me for it - perhaps he's right to. I could have told him more about Avalon, I could have made my warning more concrete."

"How?" Arthur asked with open curiosity.

"I don't know, but there must have been _something_. I'm his father, I should have protected him from all of this."

Arthur shook his head sadly. "Perhaps he simply blames himself and you just happen to be the nearest thing he has to take it out on. The truth is, nothing would have stopped Harry, or any of the rest of us for that matter, from heading out onto that battlefield. Draco couldn't have stopped it any more than you could have."

"How very brave of you all..." Lucius muttered.

"In my experience, war has very little to do with bravery."

"Yes, well, I'll drink to that."

* * *

"Where have you been?"

Ron winced in spite of himself. "Work," he said wearily, falling into the old armchair in front of the fireplace.

Hermione scowled and returned her attention to her book. Ron reached down to collect the bottle of firewhisky he'd left tucked between the chair and the wall.

"Don't you dare," Hermione warned him, getting up to snatch it away.

"Hey!"

"You're going to run yourself into an early grave, is that what you want?"

Ron deflated. "I'm tired Mione."

"So am I!" she snapped back.

Ron slunk further into the armchair and caressed his brow with stiff fingers.

Hermione softened. "There are other Aurors in the department, Ron."

"And they're all working the same bloody hours I am!"

"They're not suffering the way you are though, are they?"

Ron looked away from her piercing gaze.

"He's not Harry."

"What?"

Hermione knelt down next to her husband. "I know you miss him, Ron, I do too, but Malfoy is his own person. It's not fair of you to use him as some sort of substitute for Harry. Don't you think it's time you stopped?"

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

She gave him a pitying shake of her head and Ron felt anger and adrenaline bubble up in his chest in equal measure.

"I gave him his wand," he ground out.

Hermione blinked once, then twice. "I don't understand."

"Well that'll be a first!" Ron bit cruelly. "I helped him escape, do you get it now? I'm the reason he's out there with some lunatic fire-raiser on the rampage!"

"Escape?" she repeated carefully. "Escape _what_? A team of trained mental health professionals? The man's not well, Ron! And you- you what? Decided that you knew better than the healers? Than his father? Than _yours_?"

"No 'Mione, I decided _he_ knew better!"

"I don't believe you... Even without this maniac on the loose, you must have known that this wouldn't end well."

"He wanted peace, I thought-"

"Peace? He wants to _die_ , Ron."

"I'm aware of that."

Hermione flinched and backed away from him.

"Don't look at me like that."

"You mean like a woman who's just realised she doesn't know her husband at all?"

"He begged me, he-"

"I don't care what he did! He's not in a position to know what he's asking!"

"How the fuck would you know! You haven't so much as laid eyes on him for three years!"

"Oh that's cheap, Ron."

"It's true you mean!"

"The war's over! It was a horrible, gruelling thing that happened to us, and we lost a lot of good friends, but it's behind us now. It's not fair of you to resent me for trying to move on."

"Well Draco couldn't, alright? He was my friend and he asked me for help, so I helped him. I did the right thing."

Hermione cast him a withering glare before finally stalking out of the room.

* * *

Lucius awoke with a jerk.

He looked around, disorientated, to find that he was still in his study. A near-empty decanter of sherry sat on his desk; the stopper had rolled onto the floor. At some point his lamp had petered itself out and now only the moon hanging in his window provided any kind of light. He stretched and winced as a sharp pain shot right up one side of his back.

A scuffle sounded outside his door.

"Hello?" he called out, but no one responded. He grappled for his wand and hauled himself up, using the chair to brace his drunken legs. "Is someone there?"

The door burst open and slammed off the adjacent wall. A smouldering figure entered and moved towards him with its arm outstretched. Each new step caused great cracks to open and recede all over its brittle form, sharp lines of molten red momentarily breaking up the charcoal grey.

"Incarcerous!" Lucius shouted, but the spell seemed to disintegrate on impact. "Expulso!"

The creature kept moving until it was right in front of him. Smoke rose in thick tendrils from its skull and shoulders. It wrapped both sets of its rough fingers around his throat; Lucius struggled to break free but it was no use. Slowly the creature raised him up until his feet no longer touched the ground and the blood in his face seemed to bulge behind his eyes. His wand clattered to the floor, his arm falling limp at his side.

The creature continued to hold him in suspense. Lucius put all of his energy into pulling air in through his nose. He fixed his eyes on his attacker. As his consciousness slipped away he watched the creature's cracks fade and its smoke thin out. Sinewy muscle spread slowly over its once formless face; its mouth and eyes opened wide to reveal sickening raw flesh. It screamed - a rumbling, bloody sound - splattering flecks of crimson across Lucius' face and neck.

Lucius let his eyes fall shut but the outline of the creature burned on in his mind. As it did, a new image began to form around and over it. Gradually all the edges and shapes clicked into place and Lucius was jolted with a sudden realisation:

"Potter?" he somehow managed to etch out.

The creature's grip on him faltered and gravity did the rest; Lucius fell into an exhausted heap, wheezing and retching on the plentiful air. Blindly he felt for his wand; only once he'd closed his fingers around it did he dare look up.

The figure loomed over him, swaying dangerously with its arm still outstretched. And then its legs gave way, knees thudding to the ground and hands quickly following suit. It crouched and heaved, great tangles of dark hair sprouting to obscure its face. Lucius watched as new layers of skin weaved their way over its back and then began to shine with sweat.

"Potter?" Lucius asked again.

"Draco," the thing breathed. It - _he_ \- shivered and pulled himself into a tight ball, flinching at the feel of the carpet against his new skin. His face was childlike and unblemished but it was unmistakable nonetheless.

Lucius summoned a cloak from the stand by the door and draped it over him. "What happened to you, Potter?"

"Draco."

Lucius frowned, unsure if the word was perhaps a question rather than an answer.

"Gone," he said eventually, studying the huddled form and wondering if Harry was human enough yet to understand.

A tiny cough alerted him to the presence of a trembling house-elf. It stood in the doorway and seemed reluctant to come any closer.

"Is Master alright?" it asked. "The Aurors..." it trailed off, gesturing to some horror Lucius couldn't see from his position.

"Get the Minister," Lucius told it quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yey! New chapter! Plus, the crazy chaos time in my life is finally over and I get to go back to writing when I want to! Woohoo!
> 
> Hope you enjoy,
> 
> xx


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